


(Breaking) Bones and Trust

by PaigeTurner



Series: Bullet Points [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Miscarriage, Nightmares, Pregnancy, Torture, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-10-24 07:39:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 29,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10737153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaigeTurner/pseuds/PaigeTurner
Summary: Of Natasha's early days at SHIELD, learning to trust and making friends who might be more than friends.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I broke my own rules a little, because this one really makes a lot more sense with "(Taking) Chances and Lives" and "Time After Time" first.

01.15.00; 15:32

48.6977477,44.3757754 (Saint Euphrosyne’s School for Girls)

Natalya skimmed her medical file, glancing at the door every few lines. “Come on, tell me something I don’t know,” she whispered to the pages. 

“...vaginal abrasions, consistent with sexual activity. Lab results revealed the presence of spermicide. No seminal fluid.”

She lowered the file and stared at the wall. “He wore a condom.” Even if there’d been genetic material, it wasn’t as though she had Barton’s DNA to compare it to. She tried to imagine Agent Barton pulling off her underwear while her blood soaked through her hair into the concrete steps. 

_ “Where’s the rest of your dress?” _

She reshelved the file.

She looked both ways before slipping out the door. Her mind picked through possibilities as she casually made her way to her room. Possibility: he was uncomfortable with her sexualized style of clothing because he was attracted to her. Natalya frowned. If he’d wanted her, he could’ve had her. She’d offered twice. “Maybe he prefers his women unconscious,” she muttered as she locked her door and kicked off her shoes. 

Natalya shook her head and peeled off her t-shirt. She examined her slowly healing bruises in the mirror. “He just doesn’t seem the type.” 

She looked into her own eyes as she untied her drawstring pants. “Natalya, don’t tell me you actually trust this guy.” She dropped her pants and turned her back to the mirror, craning her neck over her shoulder to see the bruises on the backs of her legs. “You barely know him. Honestly, even if he did it, as long as he keeps his word and gets James out of here, does it matter?”

That answer sat better with her. She didn’t trust Agent Barton, but she did need his help. Leaving her clothes puddled on the floor, she headed into the bathroom for a shower. 

***

01.30.00; 9:32

38.8950877,-77.0672599 (the Triskelion)

“SHIELD HQ, how can I help you?”

“Do your agents typically carry condoms on a mission?”

The operator looked at the co-workers on either side of him. “Excuse me?”

“Just answer the question.”

“I, uh, I don’t- why--? Who is this?” he stammered. 

The caller sighed heavily, and the line went dead.

***

01.30.00; 14:02

48.6977477,44.3757754 (Saint Euphrosyne’s School for Girls)

She needed answers. Natalya was losing sleep over this absurdity. Calling SHIELD had been a stupid idea. Whether or not a condom was part of the standard mission pack, Barton could have been carrying one. It was possible. 

She had other places she could look for answers. She found Dmitri chain smoking in the library. 

“I need you to tell me what happened on New Year’s Eve.”

He looked at her and flicked the ash off the end of his cigarette. “I already told Petrovich everything.”

“I need you to tell me.”

His eyes slowly travelled up and down her figure. “Fuck off.”

“What do you want?” Natalya asked with a little sigh.“Blow job,” he answered. “On your knees under the table. You suck, I'll talk.”

***

11.28.02; 02:56

42.7300707,-92.5132795 (The Barton Homestead)

The mattress shifted as Barney rolled over. He threw his arm over her; it rested heavy and warm on Natasha’s ribs. He pulled her closer to his chest. His lips found her ear even with his eyes closed.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “Safe here. ‘Nother nightmare?”

Natasha stared at the ceiling and swallowed hard. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s okay.” He stroked her side lightly. “You okay?”

**

11.28.02; 10:04

“Excited for your first American Thanksgiving?”

Aero was doing her damnedest to be underfoot while Natasha peeled potatoes and Laura assembled a green bean casserole. 

“Not as excited as she is,” Natasha replied, gently pushing the dog aside with her shin. “At least I have something to be thankful for.” 

She dumped the potatoes into a pot and wiped her hands on the dishtowel, looking around the kitchen fondly. “A lot to be thankful for, actually. Hey! Drop that!”

Aero looked up guiltily, a strip of potato peel poking out of the side of her muzzle. She swiftly swallowed as Natasha reached for her, and it vanished. Natasha frowned and looked at Laura. “Is potato peel bad for dogs?”

Laura laughed. “She’ll be fine.” Her smile vanished and she threw her arms around Natasha unexpectedly. “Be careful,” she whispered. 

Natasha pulled back slowly. “At SHIELD?”

“Everywhere, but yes, at SHIELD. I think I’m more nervous about you going than you are.” Laura opened the oven. 

“I’ll be fine,” Natasha assured her, picking up the casserole and depositing it in the oven. “I’ll be home for Christmas.”

“I can’t tell you how good it is to hear you call this place home.”

“What can I help with?” Barney strolled into the kitchen. “I open a mean can of cranberries.”

***

12.21.02; 23:18

Laura picked them up at the airport. Natasha made herself small in the backseat and watched the snow fall softly outside the car window. 

“How’s she doing?” Laura’s voice was barely above a whisper, just loud enough to be heard over the engine.

“I’m kind of surprised they let her leave for the holidays, she must be doing really well.” Clint peeked into the backseat. “It’s all above my paygrade.”

Barney knelt on the couch, peering over the back of it out the window. He bounded up when he saw headlights approach. He met them out front as they unloaded from the car.

“-fix something.”

Clint kissed Laura on the cheek. “I’m not hungry, sweetie. Just tired.”

“Nat?” Laura offered.

“I can fix myself something,” Natasha answered. “Take your husband to bed.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Laura said, smirking at Clint.

“Let me.” Barney reached over Natasha’s arm to get a bag out of the trunk. He carried it in, and she followed upstairs to her room. 

Barney tossed the bag onto her bed. “I need to talk to you.”

His somber tone cut through Natasha’s hunger and fatigue and the comfort she felt at being back at the farmhouse. She frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Um. I don’t know how to say this. I’ve been seeing someone. Someone else, I mean. A girl.”

Natasha sat on the very edge of the bed. Her silence heightened his nerves.

“It’s not like you and me ever even talked about not seeing other people,” Barney added. “Um, but…”

“You and she talked about not seeing other people,” Natasha guessed.

“Kind of.” His chin dropped and he looked up at her guiltily. “I’m going to propose on Christmas Day.”

Natasha blinked. “Oh. That’s….”

“She’s pregnant and I want to do the right thing. And I’m sorry. I feel like I’m not doing right by you, but this is really important to me.”

Natasha winced. “Congratulations. I wish you both all the best. All three of you. You and her and the baby.” She nearly choked on the word. “Please get out of my room.”

“Shit.” Barney reached for her. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t-”

Natasha recoiled from his hand. “Get out.”

***

02.19.03; 02:01

41.0982424,-73.6354552 (SHIELD Base 4201)

The days were long and the nights longer still. Natasha’s arm twitched against the restraints over and over. She could feel the individual threads of the sheets woven together. She turned her head toward the door when it opened. 

“You’re supposed to be sleeping.” The man spoke softly. 

“I can’t.”

The light in the hallway spilled across his face, illuminating his frown. “Would it help if I loosened the restraints?”

“It might help if you tightened them.” Natasha’s voice was rough and hoarse. 

His weight shifted from one foot to the other and back.  The sway of his body as he fidgeted was almost hypnotic. He took a pistol from a holster on his belt and knelt; noiselessly he placed it on the floor just inside the door. His every footstep seemed to echo as he crossed the room. He checked the machines monitoring her. “Do you have nightmares?”

“Doesn’t everyone?” Her stare was heavy. 

He fiddled with the machine. “What are they about?”

“Different things.” 

There was something off about him. Natasha didn’t dare take her eyes off him. Her stomach knotted, and she drew a slow breath. 

“Do you have nightmares about being tortured?” He met her gaze as he turned to face the bed. 

“Sometimes.” Natasha flexed her limbs against the restraints. She could move her left arm about a half inch. 

He pulled the sheet all the way down, revealing the pale blue hospital gown dotted with abstract crimson flowers. He looked over his shoulder at the closed door. Slowly, his head turned back toward her. Natasha broke out in goosebumps.

“Do you have nightmares about being raped?”

Natasha woke up with the hairs on her arms still standing on end. The room was empty. No man. No machines monitoring her in her sleep. No restraints on the bed. She wore pajamas, not a hospital gown. The man’s voice at the end of her nightmare…. Natasha shuddered. He’d sounded just like Clint.

***

02.26.03; 16:37

Classified (SHIELD Base 616)

Natasha stood when the door opened. Director Fury filled the doorway and looked her up and down. 

“You gonna tell me you've been here all day?”

She swallowed. “You wouldn't be here unless you knew that wasn't the case.”

“You attempted to access SHIELD files without authorization,” he said.

“Just one file,” Natasha countered. 

“Four times.” He stepped inside, locking the door behind him. “Why?”

The corner of her mouth twitched upward. “Because I want to know what it says.”

“You've had access to this facility for less than forty-eight hours and I already regret it. I gave you an inch, and you somehow managed to come up with enough rope to hang yourself.”

He whipped a folder out from under his coat, and Natasha recoiled as though expecting a weapon. 

“December thirty-first, nineteen ninety-nine. Bern, Switzerland.” He glowered at her. “I printed it for you. You were there that night. What are you looking for?”

“I want Agent Barton’s perspective,” she said.

“Then ask him for it.” He pressed into the room, deliberately crowding her.

“He'll want to know why I'm asking.” Natasha stood her ground. “And he doesn't like it when I lie to him.”

“I don't care for it either,” the director replied. “What's in that file that's worth your life?” Fury didn’t like the calculating way she looked at him either. 

“If I tell you, will you tell Agent Barton?”

“I can't promise I won't. I run an intelligence organization, Miss Romanoff. You give me information, I assess. I make a careful, calculated decision about if and when and how to share that information.”

She considered his words, then sat on the edge of the bed. “I was sexually assaulted that night. While I was unconscious. I have a frustratingly vague description and a timeline.”

Fury rocked back on his heels slightly. “You think it was Barton.”

“I don't. I don't think it was him. I think it could have been him. That file could eliminate the possibility.”

“You've lived in his home for the past year. He has entrusted you with the knowledge of his family. He saved your life, more than the one time you know of. How can you consider him a possibility?”

Natasha bowed her head. “That’s why I don’t want him to know I was looking for the file.  I need him to have an alibi.”

“And if he doesn't?"”

“It won't change anything. I'm not sure it'd change anything either way,” she admitted. 

“Do you trust him?” the Director asked.

Natasha leaned in, looking up at him. “I want to.”

“If,” Director Fury said deliberately, “you trust him, then you must believe that he is not a man who is capable of what you're talking about. He could not and would not violate you. Do you trust yourself?”

“Myself?” Natasha gave him a skeptical look.

“What does your gut tell you?”

Trust no one. Except Clint. Maybe. Natasha frowned. “I-” She shook her head. “My gut says trust is no substitute for truth.”

“Trust can be more powerful.” He tapped the folder, and his stern expression softened. “It's okay if you're not there yet.” He laid it gently on the bed next to her. “Stay out of trouble.” 

Natasha watched the director let himself out of her tiny, cell-like living quarters. Leaving her with the file seemed its own particularly cruel means of torture. Over the course of the night, she kept returning to it. She touched the outside of the folder. She ran her fingers over it as though she could absorb its contents through osmosis. She didn’t sleep. At least if she didn’t sleep, she didn’t have any nightmares.

Early the next morning, Natasha stopped by the cafeteria and got a cup of coffee on her way to the director’s office. His door was open, but she knocked anyway. 

Fury looked up at her expectantly. “Come in. Find what you were looking for?”

Natasha set the folder and the cup on his desk. “I didn't open it.” She pressed her lips together. “But I think I found my answer anyway.”

“I'm glad to hear that.”

***

02.27.03; 21:40

Natasha sprawled at the bottom of the stairwell. The concrete steps were hard beneath her, pressing into cracked ribs. Her eyes refused to focus. A shadow fell over her. A pair of hands slid up her legs, shifting them apart. Sequins scratched her thighs as the hem of her dress rose. She couldn’t struggle and she couldn’t scream. A man whose face she couldn’t see knelt between her bruised knees. She felt like she was watching it play out on a screen, but she could feel it.

Morosov’s face came into view, lips twisted into a familiar sneer.

_ He was dead at the time _ .

Fury replaced him. His long, black coat draped over her knees as his fingers pulled her underwear aside. 

_ He wasn’t even there.  _

_ He could’ve been. If you’d read the file, you’d know. _

It was Gospodin Sirin, his weight pressed down on her as his hips advanced in between her legs. Pain blossomed, and Natasha’s breath caught in her chest. 

_ No, it’s not. He’s been dead longer than Morosov. _ She stared up into Barton’s face. Her tongue tripped over her teeth as she tried to speak. 

Clint smiled softly. 

_ He could not and would not. _

The pain faded as he cradled her in his arms and lifted her off the concrete. Her head fell against his chest. She heard his heart beating steady and strong. He carried her away from the dim and dirty stairwell. He carried her toward a warm light.

***

03.15.03; 08:00

“This is an assessment,” Director Fury said. His voice carried, echoing slightly in the gymnasium. “Not a test. There’s no failure here. You already know Agent Barton.”

Natasha nodded.

“Agents Leiber, Coulson and May will also be participating in the assessment.” He gestured to each of the others as he spoke their names.  He tossed something to Natasha, who caught it. 

With a downward glance, she began prying the mouthguard out of its packaging. 

“Tap out, pin out or knock out. You send your partner to the infirmary, there will be consequences. That goes for you four too.” Fury glanced at his agents. “Romanoff and Lieber, in the ring.”

The agent hopped into the sparring ring and offered Natasha his right hand. “Jacob Lieber,” he said warmly. 

She assessed him. Mid-twenties, a fair bit taller than herself, with long, muscular arms and short, black hair, not enough to grab onto. 

“Natasha Romanoff,” she replied as she looked him over, shaking his hand. The director gave the word to begin. 

Agent Lieber was quick and sure with his strikes and kicks. He’d studied -- Natasha guessed by his movements -- Kenpo Karate earlier in life. Though SHIELD had taught him much since then, the habits he’d learned before joining appeared in his stances, and his hand and foot positioning. He’d learned to spar before he’d learned to fight. She let him show off a little before throwing him onto the mat and locking out his arm.

He slapped his palm against the mat hard, squeaking a little protest, and Natasha backed off. Stopping without breaking the arm was a novelty for her. She stole a glance at Fury’s inscrutable expression before letting go. Agent Lieber stood and brushed himself off. He flexed and straightened his arm. “Good match, Miss Romanoff. Good control there.”

“I want to remind you that you won’t be penalized for losing in the ring,” Director Fury said. “Coulson.”

“I assume I won’t be penalized either,” the agent replied as he stepped onto the mats. He flashed Natasha a warm smile. 

She didn’t smile back. 

Fury watched with interest as Natasha adapted to Coulson’s fighting style. Coulson was light on his feet and quick. He favored punches, seldom bothering with a kick. As Fury had expected, he held back a lot. Coulson tapped out when the girl redirected a punch and slammed him onto the mat, pinning his hand behind his shoulder and dropping her knee into his ribs. He’d put up enough fight to start wearing Natasha down. 

“Barton.”

Her fighting style shifted again. Barton’s flashiness was reserved for long-range trickshots and impossible targets. Hand to hand, he possessed a bare-knuckle brutality. Clint was pulling his punches, but he still hit hard. Natasha could barely bring herself to hit him at all. A particularly rough blow knocked Natasha to the mat. 

“One,” Fury said.

“Shit, I thought you were going to block that,” Clint mumbled around his mouthguard.

“Two. Three.” Fury glanced down at his watch. “Four. Five. Six.”

“Nat?” Clint cocked his head to the side and stepped in closer. 

“Seven. Eight.”

Natasha looked up and met his gaze. Clint tried to signal her to get up with a nod. 

“Nine. Ten. That’s a knock out,” Fury announced.

Clint offered Natasha a hand to help her to her feet. She shook her head and slowly got up. 

“May.”

Clint pressed his tongue to the back of his teeth as he stifled an objection. He tried to catch Agent May’s eye as she got into the ring, but she was focused on her opponent. 

Like Lieber, May had obviously studied martial arts. Unlike him, she’d had more than enough time and experience to discard the parts of her training that did not serve her well and adopt more effective means. May was perfectly in control, but held nothing back. Natasha rallied from her earlier defeat. Their match was the longest and most impressive to watch. May finally managed to pin Natasha face down with her arm locked behind her back.  

Natasha rolled over and May offered her hand. With a little nod, the girl accepted and May pulled her to her feet. May flashed her a smile as she exited the ring. Natasha stood in the center of the mats, breathing hard. Director Fury handed Coulson his watch. He draped his coat over a chair and kicked his shoes off beneath it. He stepped into the ring and watched determination come into Natasha’s eyes. 

He pushed. The director used what he had observed the previous bouts to force Natasha to fight harder, tapping into reserves of strength and skill. Still she held back. He knocked her onto the mat and straddled her hips. Fury pinned her wrists to the floor. It was like holding a live wire, he could feel the energy thrumming through her.

“Yield,” he said. 

Natasha bucked her hips, forcing him to release one of her wrists to catch himself as his weight was flung forward and to one side. Her hand came up, her palm struck his jaw, and her nails raked down his cheek. His mass followed his head as she continued to push, giving herself space to slip out from under him. She planted her foot on his hip and knocked him over onto his side. 

He was halfway to getting up on his knees when Natasha’s arm wrapped around his throat.

Natasha applied just enough pressure to let him know she had the choke. “Yield,” she said softly. 

Fury reached up as though he was going to tap out. He felt the choke loosen just barely and grabbed her arm instead, wrenching down. 

As he tried to toss her over his shoulder, she threw her legs around his ribs. She squeezed, adjusting her arms and re-securing her hold on his throat. “Yield,” she repeated. 

Fury grabbed one of her fingers and pulled sideways, against the natural movement of the joint. He felt it pop. She tightened the choke, and his vision began to go dark at the edges. The director slapped her leg twice. She loosened. His vision came back.

“I yield,” he coughed. 

Natasha released him fully, sliding off his back to the floor. The director rubbed his throat. As he stood, he touched his cheek lightly. She hadn’t drawn blood. Natasha sat on the floor, watching him. He left the gym without a word.

Only when the door closed behind him did Natasha turn her attention to her finger. Clint approached, putting his hand on her shoulder.

“Come on, I’ll help you tape that up.”

***

Natasha was eating lunch alone when Coulson sat across from her. “Do you mind if I join you, Miss Romanoff?” 

She shook her head and moved her cup closer to her side of the table. “Not a bit, Agent Coulson.”

He smiled, setting a tin lunchbox on the table. The lunchbox was blue, emblazoned with a white star inside a blue circle inside a red circle, a white circle and another red circle. He had a matching thermos. “I’d like to hear a little bit about your time at the Red Room and your previous training and experience.”

She glanced from the lunchbox back to his face. “Are you psych?”

“No, um, intake. I assess new recruits and determine where to assign them. Do you have a preference?” Coulson began peeling an orange as he spoke.

“Wherever I can do the most good, I guess. I have a lot of karma to burn off. I’d like to work with Agent Barton, but I understand if that’s not recommended.” 

“Barton’s a good choice. That’s fieldwork. Dangerous, but karmically rewarding. Orange?” He held out a section of the fruit.

“No thank you.”

Coulson meticulously wiped his hands with a napkin before opening the manila folder next to his lunchbox. He produced a pen from his shirt pocket and scribbled something inside the folder. 

“You’re fluent in six languages?”

“Seven,” Natasha answered. “They didn’t include Latin.”

“It’s considered a dead language,” Coulson replied, jotting it down on her list of known languages.

“It’s also considered one that I’m fluent in.”

“Russian, English, Mandarin, Greek, German and Arabic,” he read off the list. “And Latin. Quite a variety.”

His comment didn’t necessitate a response, so Natasha took a bite of her sandwich instead. 

“Your file says you began your training at a young age. What age was that?”

Natasha was fairly certain that information was in the file as well. “Three.”

“With the approval of your parents?” He looked up from the page.

“My mother died that year. My father was never in the picture, at least, not that I remember.”

He was gauging her reaction, and he didn’t write down anything new. “And how old were you the first time you killed someone?”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, her brows coming together to make a crease in the center of her forehead. “Ten. You may have missed your calling with not being in psych.”

A very faint smile crossed his lips. “I’m right where I’m supposed to be,” he said with a soft-spoken certainty. “Do you remember it well?”

“Better than I’d like to.”

“Could you tell me about it?” His tone was light and conversational, his expression warm and open. “Who it was and how and why?”

Natasha pushed her lunch aside, mostly uneaten. “He taught history for the Red Room,” she began, studying Coulson. “He was tall but a little stooped, thick-bodied and soft around the middle. He had steel grey hair, slicked back severely, thinning. I could see his scalp through the furrows made by his comb.”

Coulson sat very still, watching her as intently as she watched him. He laid the pen across the folder.

“He had nicotine stains on his fingers, and he smelled like cigarette smoke and chalkdust. We were in the classroom. I put a pencil into his eye and strangled him with the cord from the window blinds.”

Coulson glanced at his half-eaten lunch and closed the lunchbox with one hand. “Why did you kill him?” He picked up his pen.  

Natasha’s gaze lingered a moment on the writing utensil. “He was a serial rapist who preyed on children.” Disgust dripped from her voice. 

The pen sagged as his grip went slack. “And you were a child.” 

Pity welled in his eyes, and Natasha’s expression hardened.

“Was it self-defense?” He let the pen drop back onto the table.

Natasha swallowed hard. “It was revenge.”

He pressed his lips together, his line of questioning derailed. Natasha reached across the table and rested her hand over his pen.  He glanced down at her hand.

“I’m guessing you don’t want that in your file.”

“It’s not relevant. I like my past like I like my coffee,” she replied. “Dark and mysterious.”

Coulson nodded. “We all deserve a secret or two.” He turned a page in the file. “You play piano. You’re trained in classical ballet, pointe. You swim at a speed of four and half miles per hour. And you’re a natural redhead.” 

She ran her fingers over her hair.

He flipped another page. “You’ve had a tonsillectomy.” He flinched as he read something that he didn’t speak aloud. “Currently residing at the home of Agent Barton. What do you do for fun?”

Natasha froze for a moment. Fun. “I have a dog, we’re working on running agility courses.”

“I was sad to hear about Beau. What kind of dog?” Coulson smiled, relaxing in his seat.

“Pit bull mix. She’s missing a leg, but she’s fast. She’s smart too, she likes the courses.”

Coulson picked up the pen. “Is there anything you’re not willing to do here at SHIELD?”

She thought of Barton, practically shouting into the phone that he didn’t kill children. She thought of Sofiya. “No. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Coulson nodded again, his pen scratching over the page. “Thank you for your time. Enjoy the rest of your lunch.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mission, a misunderstanding, a graduation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Melinda May is EVERYTHING.

03.24.03; 13:07

“Do you mind if I join you, Miss Romanoff?”

She set down her fork and pulled the earbud out of her ear. “Can you call me Natasha?”

Agent Coulson smiled and set his things across the table from hers. “Would you call me Phil?”

“No,” she said with a tiny shake of her head. “Sit.”

“What are you reading?” Coulson opened his lunchbox, nodding towards Natasha’s book..

“Band of Brothers. It’s about World War II. It’s a bit different than the history I learned.” She tucked a slip of paper between the pages and closed the book. “Was there something you wanted to talk about?”

Coulson took a quick look around the cafeteria. “Not really. How are you?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m fine. What’s going on?”

“I heard about the, um….”

“Graffiti?” Natasha supplied.

“I was going to say hate speech.”

Two days earlier, Natasha had returned to her room to find the words “Hydra Whore” scrawled across the door in black marker. Fury had had the entire door removed and replaced within the hour.

“I think that’s a bit over the top. I was an enemy of SHIELD for a long time. Things aren’t going to change overnight.” Natasha shrugged and resumed eating.

“I expect better of the people here.”

Coulson’s voice had an authoritative tone that sent a jolt through her. His palpable disappointment, even not directed at her, made Natasha acutely uncomfortable. Her posture straightened out and she slowly lowered her fork.

“We’ll find out who was responsible, and there will be consequences.” He set the lid of his thermos on the table with a firm thud.

“That won’t make them like me any better.”

Coulson picked up the lid and set it down again, more lightly. He frowned. His fingertips drummed on the tabletop. “What do you want done about it?”

“Nothing. I mean, remove the graffiti, but don’t make trouble.” She picked at her pasta salad.

“They made the trouble.” Coulson reached into his lunchbox. “Cookie?”

She shook her head. “No, thank you.”

***

03.27.03; 13:15

“Mind if I --”

Natasha gestured to the empty chair across from her and tucked a bookmark into her book. Coulson cocked his head, noting the position of the slip of paper

“You’re almost done with your book. You must read pretty quickly.” He settled into his seat and opened his lunch box.

“I do when it’s something that interests me.”

Coulson smiled brightly. “If you like World War II history, I’ve got a few other books I could recommend. I could even loan them to you.”

Natasha’s eyes widened. “That’d be great.”

“Chip?” He held the bag with the open end towards her.

Natasha shook her head.

***

04.09.03; 13:05

“Mind if I join you, Miss Romanoff?”

“You have every day for the past four weeks.” She moved her lunch aside, clearing the table between them. “You’re American, right?

“Born in Manitowoc, Wisconsin. I’ve never lived anywhere outside the states.”

“What was it like?” Natasha leaned forward.

Coulson’s brow furrowed. “Um, normal, I guess.”

“What’s that like?” She smiled softly. “I’ve never known normal.”

Coulson shrugged. “I played little league. My dad was a history teacher, I guess that’s where my passion for it came from. His special focus was World War II. Captain America, Agent Carter, all of that.”

Natasha glanced at his lunchbox. “That’s a -”

“A Captain America lunch box, yes.” Coulson nodded. “I also have a lot of the comic books and a full set of trading cards.”

***

04.17.03; 13:58

“May I join you, Miss Romanoff?”

“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming. Late lunch today.”

“I was in a meeting with Fury,” Coulson explained. “We have a mission.”

“We?” Natasha looked up at him with one eyebrow raised.

“You and I.”

Her face brightened.

“It’s nothing big,” he said quickly. “Don’t get too excited. I think it’s way below your skill level, honestly.”

“I don’t care.” Natasha smiled. “I was starting to feel like I’d be trapped in endless evaluations and psych appointments forever.”

***

04.24.03; 17:43

40.5217262,-74.3060074 (Perth Amboy, New Jersey)

“This is not how this was supposed to go,” Coulson complained. Somewhere in the building, something crashed to the ground. “Extraction team is in position. We’ve got to get to the roof.”

Natasha nodded towards the far side of the room. “There’s a scaffold outside those windows. I’ll cover you.”

Coulson gave a nod and took off at a sprint. Natasha popped up and began firing.

On the other side of the room, the senior agent quickly found cover. “Come on!” He beckoned to Natasha and slammed a fresh magazine into his gun. Coulson provided cover fire while she made her run.

It took both of them to get the window open. They scrambled up the metal scaffolding; Coulson turned halfway up and fired three shots at the men pursuing them. The moment Natasha set foot on the roof, an explosion blew all the windows out of the building. Coulson was far enough below her to take a it from the flying glass.

“Keep going,” Coulson shouted. He pressed his hand against his thigh just above a large shard of glass. The scaffold trembled and began to lean away from the building as he struggled up the remainder of the structure.

“Phil!”

He reached out. Natasha’s fingers wrapped around his wrist as the scaffolding fell away beneath his feet. Dangling against the bricks, he closed his grip around her arm. “Don’t let go.”

“I’ve got you,” Natasha replied. “On three.”

At her count, they both pulled, and Coulson was able to throw his good leg onto the edge of the rooftop. Natasha didn’t let go until his whole body was on top of the building. She put his arm across her shoulders, hauling him to his feet. Limping, he made it to the waiting quinjet.

“You saved my life.” Coulson grabbed Natasha’s hand as she deposited him into a seat.

“Put it in your report.” She faded back as the team rushed in to fuss over his wounded leg.

***

04.25.03; 08:29

Classified (SHIELD Base 616)

Natasha rearranged the vase full of daisies once more and knocked.

“Come in.”

Even in the infirmary, Coulson looked well. He smiled easily, and his face had good color. “My hero,” he said delightedly.

“Don’t call me that. These are for you.” She set the flowers on his bedside table. Natasha dug a small green packet out of her pocket. “They came with some sort of plant food, I guess to make them last longer.” She set the packet next to the vase.

“You haven’t gotten a lot of flowers, have you?” He chuckled. “I have quite the collection of those stupid things. I never remember to put them in the water.”

“How’s your leg?” Natasha lingered between the table at the door.

“I have to keep weight off it while it heals; it wasn’t as bad as it looked. I’ll probably have a wicked scar, but I gave up short shorts a long time ago.”

“Oh, but you have such shapely legs, you should really reconsider.” She smirked.

“Was -- was that a joke? Are you feeling alright? Do you need to lay down?” Coulson straightened up in mock concern.

Natasha chuckled lightly. She slipped past the table to stand at his bedside.  “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Coulson had the feeling that admitting such a thing was a major step for her. “You really did save my life. And I did put it in my report.”

“I don’t think Director Fury likes me very much.”

“I like you.”

Natasha lightly touched the back of his hand where the IV went in. “Thank you.”

“For liking you?” Coulson frowned.

“For giving me a chance. I had to eat lunch alone yesterday. And for the first time in my life, that bothered me.”

Coulson rolled his hand over, catching her fingertips in his palm. “Well, I’m stable, so I should be out in time for lunch today. Of course, I didn’t pack a lunch this morning on account of being here, so I guess I’ll have to brave the cafeteria food.”

Natasha shrugged. “We don’t have to eat in the cafeteria. We could go out. If you feel up to going out.”

Phil’s smile froze on his lips. “You’re not asking me to ‘go out’ go out.” A frown supplanted his grin. “Are you?”

Natasha pulled her hand free from his grasp. “Of course not. We work together.” She turned away sharply.

“Natasha…”

She hurried out of the room with her head down.

***

04.25.03; 13:00

Coulson scanned the cafeteria, but there was no sign of her. He spent a few minutes fumbling with his crutches and a lunch tray before giving up and hobbling to their usual table empty handed.

***

04.25.03; 13:28

Coulson tried calling Natasha’s cell phone. She didn’t answer.

***

04.25.03; 14:02

Coulson mustered his crutches and his strength. He made his way to the elevator and up to Natasha’s quarters. The new door wasn’t quite the right stain, it didn’t match the others on the floor. He knocked.

He knocked again, a little more forcefully. “Agent Romanoff?”

She opened the door with an exasperated expression.

“I’m sorry,” Coulson said sincerely.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for.” She pulled the door open wide enough for both him and his crutches to pass through.

“You stood me up.” He limped into the room and reached for the door.

“It wasn’t a date.” She let go, allowing him to close her door.

“Like you said, we work together. It wouldn’t be appropriate for us to….” He trailed off with a sigh.

“Have lunch?”

Coulson shifted his weight onto his good leg and leaned toward her. One of his crutches clattered to the floor as he reached out for Natasha. His fingers closed around her arm, and he looked into her eyes sternly. “Have more than lunch. We can’t date.”

“But you want to.” Natasha pulled out of his grip.

“You asked me out,” Coulson objected.

“I suggested that we leave the base for lunch. You’re the one who made the leap to going out on a date.”

His gaze shifted to one side as he blinked in confusion. “You -- I -- okay. Great. You don’t want to date me, and I don’t want to date you.”

Natasha snorted softly and gave him a half smirk. “I’m glad we cleared that up.”

“I still haven’t eaten.”

Natasha bent over and picked up the dropped crutch. “Do you want to get some lunch?”

Phil carefully tucked it back under his arm. “I’d love to. In addition to working together, I consider you a friend. I want you to know that I’d never do anything to jeopardize that.”

***

Coulson ordered a grilled chicken sandwich with a side salad; Natasha ordered a bacon cheeseburger with onion rings. She cocked her head at the menu.

“Do you want to share a dessert? They have pie.”

“I might have a coronary just sitting at the same table as your lunch,” Coulson said with a chuckle. “I’ll pass.”

She pouted and set the menu aside. “How long until you’ll be back to work?”

“I’ll be on administrative duty for six weeks. I never stop working.” He shrugged with a crooked grin. “It’s not that big a deal. This time of year, I’m usually a lot less active anyway. Graduation takes up a lot of my time.”

Natasha’s face slid into the carefully neutral expression she’d built up through years of practice. “Graduation?” Her voice betrayed no hint of the word’s meaning in her world.

“Yeah, SHIELD academy. They graduate May first. Most of them will have already chosen specialties during their studies, but I still need to assign actual teams.” He smiled broadly. “You won’t be the new girl anymore.”

***

04.28.03; 07:46

34.545783,-20.0786989 (Atlantic Ocean, near the coast of Morocco)

“So, is SHIELD everything you hoped for?” Barton pried open the electronic quiver.

“I don’t know what I hoped for,” Natasha admitted. “Is that supposed to open?”

“No clue. But you’re happy? Ish?”

“I made a friend.”

Clint looked up from the piece of equipment. He smiled when he saw her face. “Yeah? Good. Good for you. Who’s your friend?”

“Agent Coulson.”

Clint snickered. “I think his friends call him Phil.”

Natasha’s smile faltered.

“It’s fine,” Clint said quickly. “I’m teasing. Mostly. Phil’s a good guy.”

“Better get that put back together, we’re landing soon.”

***

05.01.03; 07:30

Classified (SHIELD Base 616)

“Is that what you’re wearing to the graduation?” Coulson asked.

May looked down at her clothing. “Obviously.”

“It’s just, you look a little intimidating.”

“Good.”

Phil rolled his eyes and sighed. “Which?” He held up two ties.

May turned away, flipping through a rack in his closet. “This one.” She pulled out a tie.

“That wasn’t an option.” He set the two he’d been holding aside and took it from her. “What do you think of Romanoff?”

“I hope we live to regret Barton bringing her in.” She picked up the rejected ties and rehung them on the rack.

“I like her,” Phil replied, a defensive tone in his voice.

“I’ve noticed. Are you doing a half-windsor?”

Phil froze, turning away from the mirror. “You think I’m out of line?”

“I just think the half-windsor is boring and unflattering. I prefer a four-in-hand.” Melinda reached for his tie.

“I mean with Romanoff. We’re just friends.” He caught Agent May’s hand and her gaze. “I mean, there was a brief, humiliating moment when I thought she was asking me out, but….”

“You’re attracted to her.”

He yanked the unfinished knot out of his tie. “It’s irrelevant.”

Melinda scoffed. “Yeah, because no one else fraternizes.” She reached for the tie again, but Phil turned away, knocking her hand aside with his shoulder.

“It feels wrong.”

“Try using lube.”

Coulson whipped back around so fast he knocked a bottle of aftershave off the dresser. “Melinda!”

She tipped her head in a half-shrug. “Yeah, you’re attracted to her.” With a chuckle, she finally managed to get her hands on Phil’s tie. She knotted it extremely firmly, and patted him on the cheek.

***

05.01.03; 10:59

“Phil Coulson.” He offered his right hand.

The young agent flashed a mouthful of perfectly straight, white teeth as she shook his hand firmly. “Maria Hill. I’m looking forward to working with you, Agent Coulson. Your reputation precedes you.”

“As does yours,” Phil replied. “Your transcripts are very impressive; your professors speak highly of you. It is my duty and delight to put you into a setting where you’ll shine.”

“Like a diamond, sir.”

***

05.05.03; 12:58

Phil sat down and did his best to glower. Natasha glanced up and returned to reading. He squared up his shoulders and crossed his arms over his chest. Natasha turned a page. Phil sighed, shook his head, and reached for his lunchbox.

“How is it that when I go on a mission with you, everything goes to hell and I end up in the infirmary? But when Barton goes with you, everything comes up roses?”

Natasha cracked a smile and set the book aside. “Maybe you’re bad luck.”

“Casablanca was textbook, I mean just perfect. No one could have done better.” He beamed at her.

“Thank you.”

Phil seemed about to say more when he was interrupted.

“Agent Coulson! May I join you?”

His smile was a bit more forced. “Of course. Agent Hill, this is Agent Romanoff. Romanoff, Hill.” He introduced the two women with a gesture.

“Oh, I’ve heard.” Maria’s eyes narrowed slightly as she offered her hand to Natasha. “You’re the girl who skipped the academy.”

“Miss Romanoff is hardly the first agent to be recruited from the field,” Coulson interjected.

“I’ve been through the same evaluations and assessments as everyone else,” Natasha said. “It was determined that my previous training was adequate.”

“Adequate?” Maria replied. “Is that all you strive for?”

Natasha’s fake smile dropped like a ball on New Year’s. “While you’ve been in a classroom, I’ve been proving my worth.”

“That’s enough.” Coulson’s voice was quiet and calm but left no room for argument.

An uncomfortable silence settled over the table. Coulson opened his lunchbox with an audible click. Natasha dragged her tray closer.

“Grape?” Phil held a small bunch of dark purple grapes out to Natasha.

Natasha’s gaze flicked to Hill and back to Coulson. She smiled at Phil. “Thank you.” She leaned over the table and took Phil's hand, drawing it closer. Staring Maria in the eye, she bit one grape off the stem. Maria’s nostrils flared as Natasha chewed.

“Excuse me.” Hill picked up her tray and stalked away.

"You could've just peed on my leg," Coulson muttered. 

"I don't like her." Natasha settled back into her seat. 

"Pretty sure the feeling's mutual."

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bagels, Birthdays, Bacon, Babies!

06.30.03; 13:29

“Do you have plans for Friday?”

Natasha’s eyes rolled upwards as though she was trying to see into her brain. “I don’t think so,” she answered haltingly. She reached across the table and stole a carrot chip from Coulson’s lunch. “You schedule all my missions, do I?”

“Friday’s the fourth,” Coulson said. “Of July.”

“Right, Independence Day. It’s still a work day.”

“It’s my favorite holiday.” Phil jerked his lunch in closer as Natasha stretched out her hand again. “Share my enthusiasm.”

“Share your lunch,” she retorted. “What do you want to do?”

“I want to take a three day weekend and fly to New York. See the Macy’s fireworks. Eat a dozen hot dogs. You could come. I can show you the birthplace of Steve Rogers.”

“Who?”

“Captain America.” Coulson glared at her. 

“Who?” Natasha repeated, batting her eyes innocently. 

Coulson doubled down on his glower, dropping his chin slightly. He held it until Natasha began to break into a smile. 

“It sounds fun,” she admitted.

“Bring walking shoes.”

***

07.04.03; 01:18

Natasha fell into the seat of the quinjet heavily. “I’m not sure I understand why we have to leave so early. I thought this was a vacation?”

“You can sleep on the way,” Coulson replied. “Where’s your bag?”

Natasha kicked a backpack with the side of her foot. 

“I’ll stow it for you.” He unbuckled his harness and started to rise.

“It’s fine where it is.” Natasha rubbed her eyes. “I’m not going to be able to sleep like this.”

“I’ll buy you a cup of coffee when we get there.”

Natasha looked at him through heavy-lidded eyes. 

“And a genuine New York bagel.”

She pressed her shoulders into the seat, stretching her back. The natural consequence of the movement was that her chest came up and forward. Coulson looked away, smoothing his clothes and refastening his seatbelt.

***

07.04.03 21:20

40.696549,-73.9994794 (Brooklyn Heights Promenade, New York City)

“Warm enough?” Phil asked. “Even in July, the temperature drops a lot after sunset. I guess I should’ve warned you.”

“Russian,” Natasha replied. “And the temperature does that everywhere. If I thought I’d need a jacket, I’d’ve brought one.”

Coulson nodded. “I was going to be a gentleman and offer you mine, but…” He pulled the zipper up. “I am cold.” 

The sky and his face both lit up as the show began. Coulson was absolutely enrapt, lips parted, eyes wide, a faint hint of a smile. The colors of the fireworks flashed off his skin. Natasha caught herself staring and forced her gaze away. She looked down, picking at her cuticles. 

She clenched her teeth and didn’t allow a flinch as it continued. The noise. The crowd. Her stomach knotted and churned. She scanned the people around them. Everyone was watching the fireworks. 

“Wow. Did you see that?” Coulson reached for her hand. 

Natasha glanced out at the sky. “Yeah, it’s really something.”

With a frown, he focused on her face. “Are you okay?” 

She nodded and didn’t meet his gaze, forcing herself to keep watching the sky. 

“Natasha?” Coulson closed the gap between them with one step and laced his fingers into hers. 

She glanced at him and jerked her head toward the river. “You’re missing it.”

“Let’s go.” He tugged her hand gently. 

“We flew here so you could see this.” Natasha planted her feet. “I’m fine. They don’t even sound like gunshots.” She looked down at their clasped hands. “There’s a lot of people here. I’m not armed,” she added quietly. 

He let go of her hand and unzipped his jacket. “I am,” he whispered as he slipped his arm over her shoulders. “Nine mil. Shoulder holster.”

Natasha snuggled into him, letting his jacket fall behind her back. She felt the firm bulge of the holster and crossed one arm over her chest, clutching her opposite biceps, inches from the weapon. 

Green-gold light illuminated them. Her heart slowed. Her stomach unknotted. She met Coulson’s eyes and gave him a little smile. 

***

07.04.03; 23:35

Phil kept his arm around Natasha as they made their way through the crowd. “We’re going to end up walking most of the way to the hotel,” he muttered as he tried to flag down a cab. 

“I don’t mind.” Natasha smiled. “Where are we staying?”

“I got us a two bedroom suite.” He had a sheepish look. “Um, Fury thought you might run off if you were in your own room.”

She pursed her lips and nodded. “Does he remember that joining SHIELD was my idea? Clint didn’t put a gun to my head. I chose this.”

“How do you feel about extending our vacation a couple of days?” 

“Right now I feel pretty good about not going back any sooner than I have to. What’s it going to take to get Fury to trust me?”

“An act of God and congress.” Phil gave her arm a light squeeze. “It’s nothing that you’re doing wrong.” 

“Sure. What were you saying about extending the trip?” She slipped her arm around his waist. 

“Oh.” Coulson twitched a little at her touch. “Uh, the, uh, Bartons invited me to celebrate my birthday at the farm. Laura’s going to bake me a cake and .…”

“When’s your birthday?” Natasha demanded with a sharp frown. 

“Tuesday.”

“Coulson!” She pinched his side. 

“Ow!” He jerked away but quickly resettled with his arm around her. “What was that for?”

“You could’ve given me a bit more notice. Now I have to try to find you gift while we’re here. I’m sure as hell not going to find anything in Iowa.”

His expression softened. “You don’t have to get me anything.”

***

07.05.03; 09:28

40.6452228,-74.0150375 (The Childhood Home of Steven Grant Rogers)

The former tenement building had been turned into a kitschy museum. Aside from a curator who looked nearly as old as the building itself, the place was deserted. “Clark.” He smiled warmly at them. “Who’s your lady friend?”

“Natalie,” Natasha said quickly, flashing the man a dazzling smile. 

“Stanley. My, aren’t you a pretty young thing?”

Coulson handed the man a twenty dollar bill. “No need for a guide, I know the tour by heart.”

“Yeah. We usually get a little surge in business around the fourth, but… every year that surge is a little smaller.” It took a minute for him to get the cash register open. “Any change, Clark?”

“No, thanks.”

Natasha gave him a slightly puzzled look.

“The museum runs on donations, you pay what you want to get in.” He smiled. “I’m sure this isn’t really that interesting to you. I appreciate you humoring me.”

“Actually, I find the American propaganda tool to be somewhat fascinating.” Natasha started up the stairs. She stopped after four when she realized Coulson wasn’t following her.

“Tell me you didn’t just refer to Captain America as a tool.” He planted his hands on his hips.

“Wasn’t he?”

“My dear Miss Romanoff, you’re in for an education.”

Twenty minutes into Coulson’s tour of the third-smallest apartment Natasha had ever seen, she excused herself to use the restroom downstairs. She snuck into the gift shop instead.

“Ah, Nicole, enjoying the museum?” Stanley asked. 

She debating on correcting the old man about her name and decided to let it slide. “I’m looking for a gift for my friend. His birthday’s in a few days.”

“Well, we’ve got all kinds of Captain America memorabilia and souvenirs.”

Natasha looked around. All of the merchandise featured a thick layer of dust. “I see.” She quickly settled on a tie pin featuring the red, white and blue shield. “I think today might be the first time I’ve seen him not wear a tie.” And it was small enough to hide in her pocket until she could wrap it.

***

07.07.03; 20:45

42.7300707,-92.5132795 (The Barton Homestead)

Laura pulled Coulson in for a hug and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m glad you came.” 

“I was promised pie,” he replied. 

“I see how it is. You only love me for my pie.”

“In fairness, Laura, that’s why I love you too.” Clint came out of the kitchen with a bag of chips.

Laura glared at him before turning her focus back to Phil. “I hate to be a terrible hostess, but would you mind if Clint and I went to the hospital for a little bit?”  She still had her arms around Coulson’s shoulders, and she bounced on the balls of her feet.

“Hospital?”

“Tanya’s in labor.” Clint tossed a handful of chips into his mouth. “Probably no baby tonight, but I want to see how Barney’s holding up. I gotta say, married life seems to suit him.”

“I didn’t realize Barney had gotten married.” Phil frowned. “When did all this happen?”

“Well, he proposed at Christmas and they were hitched by Valentine’s Day.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then wiped his hand on his jeans. “Little courthouse thing, they want to do a big, fanciful to-do once she’s lost the baby weight.”

Laura chuckled. “Well, she wants to. I think Barney’s quite satisfied with what they had.”

Natasha snatched the bag of chips out of Clint’s hand and disappeared into the kitchen. Moments later, there was a great deal of whining, followed by the scrabbling of paws on the tile floor, and dark brown brindle pitbull, missing a front leg, came skidding into the living room. 

“You must be Aero!” Phil dropped into a crouch to greet the dog. 

Backside wagging, she nearly knocked him over as she pressed her muzzle into his face. 

“Whoa there. Easy. Easy.” He put his hand on her chest to hold her back as she tried to lick him. Her tongue passed just in front of his nose. “Settle.”

Aero whined, straining to reach him with her kisses.

“She’s a bit more energetic than Beau was,” Laura said with a laugh. 

“Well, I guess I’m chopped liver.” Natasha trailed back into the living room. 

As if she understood, Aero abandoned Phil to greet Natasha. 

“Sit for praise,” Natasha said firmly. 

Aero almost sat, her haunches hovering off the floor. 

“Good enough.” Natasha ruffled the dog’s ears. “Good girl.”

“I think we can get ourselves situated,” Phil said. “Keep me updated on the new addition.”

“Don’t wait up for us.” Laura kissed him on the cheek again. She ducked into the hall closet to get her purse. 

Clint pulled Phil into a hug as well. “Good to see you.”

“How are you holding up?” 

Clint just nodded. “He really is changing for the better. I don’t actually like his wife, but she’s good for him.”

***

07.08.03; 05:26

At the farmhouse, Natasha immediately fell into her old routines. She dressed and combed her hair and let Aero out. She started a pot of coffee and put down a bowl of food for the dog. 

“Still an early riser, I see.” Laura wore her pajamas, a robe hanging open over one of Clint’s t-shirts and a pair of cotton shorts. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t been back more often.” 

“I’m surprised you’ve been back as often as you have,” Laura replied. She got out a mixing bowl. “Pleased. But, surprised.”

“Laura, do you have wrapping paper?” Natasha’s voice dropped to an urgent whisper. 

“In the crawlspace under the stairs. Tape and scissors in the desk.” She smiled. “Tend the chickens when you’re done with that? I want to get breakfast started.”

Natasha nodded agreeably and set off to wrap Phil’s gift. She got it done quickly, and left the finished parcel on the kitchen table while she fed the cats and chickens and collected eggs. 

“Can you crack two of those in a bowl and beat them?” Clint had taken Laura’s place at the stovetop when Natasha came back in.

“Barton, beating things is what I do.” She pulled a small bowl out of the dishwasher and wiped off the excess water.

“Calories consumed on your birthday don’t count,” Laura insisted as she followed Phil down the stairs. 

“I normally have coffee for breakfast, I’m just not that hungry first thing in the -- is that bacon?”

Clint drained the strips on a paper towel while Natasha worked on the pancakes. 

***

07.08.03; 07:32

“More pancakes?” Natasha picked up the plate in front Phil.

“I literally couldn’t possibly. Thank you, but no.” 

She set her plate on top.

“I’d take a little more coffee, if you don’t mind?” Phil held up his mug.

“Anything for the birthday boy.” She set the plates in the sink and eyed the stack of pancakes next to the stove. “I definitely could.” Natasha delicately picked one up with her fingers and rolled it up, biting into it like a burrito while she poured coffee. The pancake was gone by the time she got back to the kitchen table. “Sugar?”

Coulson caught her eye. “Huh?”

Natasha glanced pointedly at the cup. “Do you want sugar?”

Coulson was still formulating a response when the phone rang. Laura leapt up, but Clint gestured her back to her seat.

“I got it.” He grabbed the phone. “Barton.” His eyes widened. “Yeah? We will. Healthy? Mom too? Cool.” Clint hung up.

“Well?” Laura prompted immediately.”

“The baby’s here. It’s a girl. I have a niece.”

“How big? What time? Does she have a name yet?” Laura stood and circled the kitchen table.

“I didn’t ask.”

“This is why I got up to answer the phone. For a spy, you don’t know how to ask the pertinent questions.” Laura poked him in the chest with her index finger. 

“Relax, he invited us to come up to the hospital to meet her. You’ll get your answers, scary lady.”

Laura grinned broadly. “Let’s go! Finish your coffee. Get your shoes.”

“I’ll take care of the dishes.” Natasha resumed gathering things from the table.

“What? No, you’re her other Auntie, you have to come.” 

“Laura,” Clint said softly.

Laura’s face fell. “Oh. Oh, Nat. Honey. I didn’t -- I didn’t think.” She reached for Natasha to pull her into an embrace and Natasha deftly dodged. 

“I’m fine. But someone has to do the dishes. And weed the garden. Go. Quick, before the baby gets less cute or something.”

Laura nodded and began getting ready, but her enthusiasm was dampened. Coulson joined Natasha at the sink once the Barton’s had vacated the kitchen. 

“Did you want kids?” 

“It’s a moot point.” Natasha took a handful of silverware out of his palm and dumped it in the sink.

“I saw that in your file.” He picked up a dishrag. “You wash, I’ll dry.”

A paw with white toes appeared on the far side of the countertop, near the plate with the last strip of bacon. 

“Don’t even think it,” Natasha said sternly. 

The paw slid off and Aero circled around the counter with a guilty look. 

Natasha turned to Phil. “Do you want the last piece of bacon?”

“No.” He shook his head. “You?”

She glanced back at the dog. “Nah. Should we?”

He pulled the plate over. “She’s your dog.”

Natasha picked up the strip and broke it in half. She handed half to Phil. “Make her work for it.” Natasha took two steps towards the dog. Aero sat. Her eyes fixated on the bacon.

“Uh-huh, look at me.” Natasha pointed to her nose. Aero shifted her gaze to Natasha’s face. “Eyes on me.” She slowly moved the bacon further from her body. Aero focused on Natasha. “Good.” She held out her empty hand. “Shake.” The dog shifted onto her haunches and dropped her front paw into Natasha’s palm. Natasha glanced down. “You need a pedicure.” She held the bacon in front of Aero’s nose. The dog whined. “Take it.” 

“She’s got more discipline than I do,” Phil remarked. “What else does she know?”

“Down, roll over, stand. She’s hit or miss on playing dead.”

Clint and Laura came through the kitchen, Laura carried a yellow gift bag adorned with ducklings. “Phil, did you -- are you giving that dog bacon?” 

“Natasha started it.”

“You wanna come meet the baby?” Clint asked. 

“I’m going to help with the chores.”

“It’s your birthday, don’t overdo it,” Laura said. “Keep those two out of trouble.”

He slipped Aero the rest of the bacon. “Trouble?”

***

“I want one,” Laura whispered. 

“She is pretty cute,” Clint peered over her shoulder at the newborn. 

Laura craned her neck to look at him. “How long are we going to wait?”

“Oh. You want one want one. Um, can I hold her?”

“Support her head.” Laura eased the baby into her husband’s arms. “Oh, my ovaries. Look at you. Holding that baby.”

Clint looked from his wife down to his niece and back up to his wife. “We could start trying.”

“Do you mean that? Don’t tease me, Clint. If you want to keep waiting, we’ll wait, but don’t tease.”

The baby, Alexis, made a tiny mewling cry. 

“Laura, the trying is the fun part.” Clint grinned at her. “But this part -- this part is pretty okay too.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Successful missions lead to blossoming trust and a growing family

10.13.03; 14:14

Classified (SHIELD Base 616)

Clint leaned back in his chair, bouncing a rubber band ball off the wall. Natasha sat perfectly still, leaning forward slightly, hands folded on the table. Coulson sighed and opened the folder in front of him.

“I have a mission for the three of us.”

Thump, thump, catch.

“End of the month, Miami.”

Thump, thump, catch.

Coulson glared at Clint.

“I’m listening.” He threw it again.

Natasha put her hand on Clint’s shoulder and shoved. His chair slid, the wheel caught on the leg of the table, and it began to tip. Clint managed to right himself before he and the chair crashed to the floor.

Glowering at Natasha, he stood up to retrieve the ball.

“Leave it,” she said, in the same voice she used on Aero.

“End of the month, in Miami.” Clint sat back down. “I’m listening.”

“Thank you,” Coulson mouthed to Natasha. He cleared his throat and continued. “There’s a pretty big Halloween party at this nightclub. Lots of people. Lots of costumes. Getting in won’t be a problem.”

“Do we get to pick our own costumes?” Clint asked.

His tone caused Coulson to slit his eyes suspiciously.

“To an extent. We’d like you to be inconspicuous. Face obscured but vision not obstructed. Agent Romanoff, we’d like you to be a little more ... conspicuous. You’ll need to attract the attention of this man.” Coulson produced an eight-by-ten photograph.

“Who is he?”

“Bradley Wills. He’s been drugging young women at the nightclub. They disappear for a day or two and show up with no memory of what happened. We need to know where he takes them.”

“I’m bait?” Tension crept into Natasha’s shoulders.

Coulson quickly pulled a jewelry box out of his jacket pocket. “Your costume needs to go with these.” He flipped open the box to reveal a large pair of cubic zirconia earrings. “He’ll buy you a drink. Once you drink it, the drugs begin to take effect quickly. Your heart rate will drop, triggering the earrings to inject you with a small dose of a stimulant to counter the effects. Now, you’ll need to act drugged, dizzy, slipping in and out of consciousness, but you will not be helpless. Barton will following, as closely as he can. I’ll be tracking you via a gps device.”

Natasha looked from the earrings into Coulson’s somber face.

“We will not let him hurt you,” Coulson promised.

***

10.31.03; 21:33

25.8103343,-80.2751783 (Miami Springs, FL)

Coulson looked at Clint dubiously. “Jack Sparrow?”

“Captain,” Clint corrected in an exaggerated voice. “Jack Sparrow.” He grinned. “The hair and the beard do a good job of actually disguising me, but my vision isn’t compromised, and there’s going to be at least six Captain Jacks at this party, I guarantee it.”

Coulson lost whatever reply had been on his tongue. His jaw dropped slightly. Clint swiveled around to see Natasha. Her dress, with its blue spangled bodice and red and white striped skirt, flirted with the bounds of decency. It was a perfect replica of the costumes worn by Captain America’s chorus girls. Phil had thirty inappropriate thoughts all at once. The vintage-style waves of her hair hid the earrings.

“I figure it’s revealing enough to get his attention, different enough to make me visible in a crowd.” She twirled around, the skirt fluttering out to reveal blue panties that matched the top of the dress.

“You got my attention,” Clint said. “Could you--” he swirled his finger in a circle.

She glared at him instead until he looked suitably chagrined.

“Your IDs for the night.” Coulson handed each of them a card.

“Michael Price,” Clint read his off. “Of Miramar, Florida.”

“Amanda Ames, Atlanta, Georgia. Hey, I’m twenty-one.” Natasha examined the ID for a moment and tucked into the bodice of her dress.

Clint immediately pulled his back out. “Did you make me older?”

“Younger, actually. You’re welcome.” Coulson offered Clint a set of keys. “You’ll be driving yourself to the club. I want you to arrive first, scope the scene. Just keep an eye out. Amanda, you’ll get a cab and arrive about twenty minutes later.” He fiddled with his phone. “I’ve got good signal from your tracker.”

***

10.31.03; 23:14

25.7889655,-80.1996598 (The Release, Miami, FL)

“Are you here alone?” Bradley looked at the people nearest Natasha.

“Yeah,” she replied with a slight southern accent. “My friend was supposed to meet me, but she got, like, the flu or something. I figured I might as well come, but it’s not as much fun when you don’t know anyone.”

He nodded sympathetically. “Maybe you’d have a better time if I bought you a drink.”

“Aw, you’re sweet.” She ran her hand over his arm. “And surprisingly stacked under that suit. Who are you supposed to be anyway?”

Bradley held up a martini glass. “Bond, James Bond. Isn’t it obvious?” He laughed. “What do you want, love?”

“Bacardi and coke, diet coke,” she corrected.

He smiled and signaled the bartender. Natasha watched surreptitiously, but she didn’t see either of them put anything in the glass.

“Thanks.” She smiled at him as she picked up the drink. For the first time ever, she was afraid that she wasn’t going to be drugged. If he didn’t choose her, the whole mission would fall apart. It tasted normal. Natasha was about three-quarters done with the glass when the dizziness hit her.

“Everything okay?” He feigned concern quite well.

“I think y’all make your drinks a little stronger than I’m used to.” She leaned into him, putting her hand on his arm again. “Woah.”

“Let’s step out for a bit of fresh air. I’m sure it’ll fix you right up.”

Natasha nodded. Her feet seemed to weigh a hundred pounds each. She gasped when she felt a little prick of pain behind her ear and covered it by pretending to stumble. “Shit. I don’t wear heels except at the club.”

Bradley put his arm around her, guiding her to the exit and out into the parking lot.

“I don’t feel show good,” Natasha slurred.

“Mmm.” He kept walking, leading her between the rows of cars.

“Maybe I should get a cab.” The stimulant was helping, at least Natasha thought it was, but things were still fuzzy.

“I’ll take care of you,” Bradley cooed.

Clint had joined a pack of smokers near the door. At least, Natasha hoped the Jack Sparrow she spotted lighting up was Clint. Bradley pulled open the door of a car.

“White crown vic, heavy tinting on the windows,” Clint growled through clenched teeth.

“GPS is still working fine,” Coulson’s voice in his ear assured him. “I see her movement.”

Clint pulled out a cell phone and pretended to answer it. He began loudly assuring no one that he was on his way and would be there any second, for the benefit of the crowd. He strode across the parking lot and quickly got into the black SUV. Clint pulled up behind Bradley as he waited to turn left out of the lot.

Natasha slumped in the passenger seat of Bradley’s sedan. The neon blurred into a dazzling, multicolor glow as they drove.

Coulson drummed his fingers on Lola’s steering wheel, watching the screen of his phone.

“Wills pulled over and parked, I just passed him,” Clint reported.

Phil started his engine. “Okay, I -- no, no, he’s definitely on the move again.”

“He’s making sure he’s not followed,” Clint snapped. “Watch the GPS and tell me where to get on his tail again, I’m switching vehicles.”

“Do not steal a car.”

“This guy’s practically asking for it, the door was unlocked.” He tossed the case containing his bow into the passenger side floorboards and began stripping the ignition.

“Barton,” Coulson’s voice took on a tone of stern warning.

“What’s done is done, let’s not live in the past, you can’t un-hotwire a car. Where is she?”

“Southbound on 95.”

“Where are we?” Natasha moaned, mushing the words into one long string of nonsense.

Bradley ignored her and she let out a little whimper. The jolt of clarity she’d gotten from the stimulant was fading; she didn’t dare close her eyes.

***

10.31.03; 23:23

25.6948551,-80.1613228

Wills pulled into the driveway of a light-colored two-story house. Natasha’s eyelids fluttered as she tried to take in her surroundings in the few seconds she had. He opened her door and picked her up, slinging her over his shoulder.

The living room was decorated in solid, stark white, from the walls to the furnishings. Bradley laid Natasha on the hardwood floor, cradling her head to minimize the impact. “You seem like a nice girl, Amanda. I’m sorry this is happening to you.”

She watched him pick up an envelope from a small side table before he left. Natasha began to move slowly, not quite trusting her strength. A light came on. She froze.

The man in the black mask cast a long shadow over her. “You’re stronger than the last one,” he said, his voice altered by some sort of modulator.

“Please,” Natasha whispered.

His footsteps echoed as he approached. “I’m not going to kill you.” A knife gleamed in his hand. “But I am going to hurt you.”

She craned her neck, looking up at the mask with wide eyes.

“Very. Very badly.” He knelt and slipped the knife beneath the collar of her dress, the blade flat against her skin. His other hand, clad in a black leather glove, ghosted up her thigh. “Pretty doll.”

He sliced through the fabric and the top of her bodice sagged. He traced the line of her collarbone with the tip of the knife, dipping it down into her decolletage.  

“Drop the knife.” Coulson stood behind the man with his gun drawn. “Hands where I can see them.”

The man grabbed Natasha by the hair. Yanking her into his chest, he pressed the blade against her throat. Natasha brought her hands up, wrenching his arm downwards.

The front door swung open and an arrow sank into his shoulder.

Natasha wrested the knife from his hand; Coulson quickly restrained the man.

“Are you hurt?” Coulson met Natasha’s eyes. “Did he hurt you?”

She shook her head, her lower lip trembling. Blinking as though just waking, she pulled the bodice of her dress back up over her bra.

“You kept your word.”

***

11.01.03; 06:49

Classified (SHIELD Base 616)

“What did he do to the others?”

“You don’t want to know.” Coulson set a cup of coffee in front of her. “Are you sure you’re okay? It’s not too late to go into medical. Or psych.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “I’m fine.”

“How’d the stimulant work?” He poured himself a cup as well.

“Not as well as I would’ve liked, but better than nothing, I guess.” Natasha shrugged, wrapping her hands around her coffee.

“Put that in your report,” Coulson requested. “We'll keep working on it. I’ve got to do my share of the paperwork. Are we on for lunch today?”

“Every day.”

***

11.21.03; 13:26

“Big plans for your birthday?” Coulson swirled the contents of his thermos.

“Well, it’s not just my birthday, you know. It’s my anniversary with Aero. Laura’s going to help me bake pupcakes.”

“You’re baking for the dog?” Coulson chuckled.

“I’d rather make a fuss over her than over myself.” Natasha shrugged. “Clint and Laura mean well, but sometimes….”

“Sometimes what?”

“I’m just not used to it.” She smiled wanly.

“Well, I’ll be there. Clint invited me.”

Perhaps it was his imagination, but her smile seemed to brighten at the news.

***

11.22.03; 09:50

42.7300707,-92.5132795 (The Barton Homestead)

Clint, Coulson and Natasha had traveled together. Natasha spent most of the trip eyeing the two identically sized, neatly wrapped packages that Phil carried.

“It’s been my birthday for nearly ten hours,” she pointed out.

“I thought you didn’t like having a fuss made over you.”

Natasha sighed. “But I’m curious.”

“Clint!” Laura greeted them on the porch. “Clint, I need to talk to you upstairs for a second.”

“The lady needs to talk to me upstairs.” He followed her in and up.

Natasha bounded into the kitchen to see Aero. It was hard to say who was more excited.

Phil hung back deliberately, letting Natasha get her share of the dog’s attention before making his presence known.

“What’s up?” Clint asked as Laura ushered him into their bedroom.

“I took a test this morning,” she whispered.

Clint frowned. “Isn’t it a little early for that?”

“Apparently not.” She grinned giddily. “It was positive,” she squeaked.

Clint’s eyes widened. “You -- you’re --” his voice dropped to a whisper. “Pregnant?”

Laura nodded, her eyes bright.

Clint threw his arms around her and kissed her fiercely. “I knew you looked even more beautiful than usual.” His hands dropped to her hips, and he gazed lovingly at her abdomen. “Hi.”

“It can’t hear you yet.”

Clint lifted the hem of her shirt and kissed her stomach. “I don’t care.”

“I don’t want to tell anyone yet.” Laura bit her lower lip. “And by anyone, I specifically mean Natasha. This won’t be easy for her.”

Clint nodded and straightened back up. “She’s going to find out eventually. Honestly, I get where you’re coming from, but the longer we lie to her, the worse it’s going to be.”

“I know. We’re looking at late July for a birthday.” Laura rubbed the back of her neck. “That’s plenty of time to tell her.”

Clint kissed her again, more gently. “I love you.”

She put her hands over his and squeezed. “I love you.”

***

“Is everything okay?” Natasha looked up from her spot on the kitchen floor as Clint and Laura came in.

“Everything’s fine,” Laura replied cheerily. “She is not a lap dog, is this where she learns that from?” She gestured to Aero, trying to fit into Natasha’s lap.

“What? Of course she’s a lap dog,” Phil said defensively. “She just overlaps.”

Clint chuckled, but Laura glared at him. “You’re not half as funny as you think you are.”

“Now that we’re all here, can we do gifts?” Phil asked. He held up the boxes.

“Yes!” Natasha scrambled to her feet, unseating Aero.

Phil pretended to be considering the parcels carefully. “Okay, so the heavy one, the heavy one is this one.” He gently shook the box in his right hand. “Which means this one is for Aero.” He presented Natasha with the box in his left hand. “You might want to help her open that.”

Natasha ripped open one flap of the paper and set it on the floor. “Get it.”

Aero began nudging the package with her nose.

“Get it, rip it,” Natasha encouraged. The box slid across the floor. After a few seconds, Natasha intervened with a chuckle. She tore the rest of the paper off. “Dog treats.”

“She’s too young for a car.”

Natasha was busy opening the box. “Aero, sit.” She passed the box to Phil. “Here, you can give her the first one.”

Aero watched the box change hands with bright eyes, sitting attentively. Phil set one treat on the floor in front of her.

“Leave it.”

She looked from the treat to Phil, then back to the treat, then to Natasha, imploringly. Natasha shook her head and pointed at Phil. Aero stared the man down.

“Okay, take it.”

The dog gulped down the treat with a single crunch of teeth.

“So, who’s the heavy one for?” Natasha asked pointedly.

Phil chuckled. “For you, of course.” He handed it over.

Natasha ripped off the paper to reveal a very non-descript black case. She set it on the kitchen counter to open it. Her jaw dropped. “And I’m allowed to carry this?” Natasha eased a Glock 26 out of the case.

“Don’t shoot any civilians.”

“Thank you.” It wasn’t just the weapon, she knew Coulson had campaigned to get Fury to allow her to walk around armed.

Clint held out a gift bag. “We got you the holster for it.”

***

11.23.03; 05:50

“Good birthday?” Phil asked.

“Top five,” Natasha replied. She stood at the back door, looking into the yard.

He smiled. “You didn’t really celebrate your birthday before, did you?”

She shook her head. “There’s coffee.” She pointed to the pot. “Do you think Clint and Laura were acting weird last night?”

“Clint’s weird full time.” Coulson found the mugs in the second cabinet he opened. “I didn’t notice anything.”

Natasha’s brow furrowed, but she didn’t pursue the matter. She cracked the door open. “Aero, c’mon baby!”

The dog trotted in and sat on the rug. Natasha ran her hand down Aero's front leg and felt her paw. "They're good." She pointed to a dish of kibble. "Get it." 

Aero licked her hand and went to eat.

“Are you staying through Thanksgiving?” Natasha sipped her coffee.

Phil shook his head. “No, I have to get back. I’m heading out later today. Thank you for allowing me to celebrate with you.”

“Thank you,” Natasha replied. “I feel like I underdid it a little with your birthday gift.” She gazed out the window. “Do you want to take a walk with us after breakfast?”

“It’s pretty cold.” Phil glanced at the thermometer outside the kitchen window for confirmation.

“Aero has a coat and booties,” Natasha bragged. “Because Laura spoils that dog worse than I do, no matter what she says.”

“Purely for the spectacle of a three-legged pitbull in a coat, I will take a walk with you.”

“It’s pink.”

“Even better.” Phil smiled.

***

11.23.03; 07:05

Aero’s coat was not merely pink, it was the color of Barbie’s Malibu Dream Home, trimmed in white faux fur. Someone had sewn a patch over the opening where her missing front leg would have come through. Her boots were tan and lined with faux shearling.

Phil sniffled; the cold air made his nose run. His fingertips hurt with the cold, even inside his gloves. Natasha’s cheeks were bright pink, but she didn’t seem to mind the weather. Aero sniffed along the ground happily. They paused near the fenceline on the crest of a hill.

“What a sunrise,” Phil said softly.

The dawn cast a rose-gold glow over the grey world. The sun caught in Natasha’s hair, turning it to fire. She looked at him, her lips curved into a gentle smile. Phil leaned in and pressed his mouth against hers.

Her lips were resistant to his, and for one humiliating moment, Phil thought he’d misjudged things. Natasha softened, welcoming the kiss. His heart thudded hard as he withdrew, meeting her eyes cautiously.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Phil whispered. He wasn’t sure if he wanted her to argue or agree.

Natasha sidled closer. Her hand traced up his ribs and slipped under his arm resting against his back.

“I definitely should not have done that,” he reiterated.

“Then you won’t do it again.” She cupped his jaw with her other hand, pulling him in until their lips were a hairsbreadth apart.

He could feel her breath. He could feel the heat radiating off her lips. He closed the gap and his eyes. Natasha reciprocated, parting her lips and welcoming his tongue into her mouth. They broke apart, and the roar of blood rushing in his ears began to subside.

“Other than a huge mistake, what was that?” Phil asked.

“I think they call it a kiss.” One eyebrow quirked as Natasha teased.

“We can’t do that.” He took a step back, and Natasha’s arms fell away from him, and he immediately regretted it. Phil swallowed hard. He searched for the right words.

“I understand. It won’t happen again.” She turned away, taking one last, lingering look at the rising sun. “It’s cold,” she said softly, without facing him. “We should head back.”

***

11.26.03; 21:04

“I’m thinking you make a list of names you like, well, two lists,” Laura corrected. “One for boys, one for girls--”

“Are we going to find out before the baby’s born if it’s a boy or girl?” Clint asked.

“I, well, I don’t know. Do you want to?” She furrowed her brow at him.

Clint shrugged. “It’d make the planning easier. But I’m okay with being surprised. Either way.”

“We can table that until twenty weeks. So, two lists of names you like and I’ll do the same. We’ll see if any names pop up on both lists.”

He nodded. “How are you feeling?”

“So far so good.” Laura snuggled in closer to him. “Tired as all get out, though. I think I’m already napping for two.”

He kissed her on the forehead. “Get your rest. And I don’t want you on your feet all day tomorrow cooking. Natasha and I are more than capable. Don’t overdo it.”

***

11.27.03; 14:58

“Clint, would you lead grace?”

“Good bread, good meat, good God, let’s eat.”

Laura glowered at her husband. Natasha snickered. Clint sighed.

“Sorry.” He bowed his head. “Thank You for the wind and rain; and sun and pleasant weather; thank You for this our food; and that we are together. In Your name, Amen.”

“Amen,” Laura said.

“Amen,” Natasha echoed quietly.

The table was silent for a few moments while everyone began to eat. Natasha looked at Clint and Laura, staring dreamily at each other.

“Are you two going to tell me what’s going on?” she asked.

Clint had a fantastic poker face, but Laura’s immediate guilt-stricken expression gave it away.

“Nothing,” Laura stammered. “Nothing’s going on.”

“Laura. It’s sooner, rather than later.” Clint forced an expression that was somewhere between a grimace and a grin.

“We’re--” Laura frowned, trying to phrase it as delicately as she could, “-- in a family way.”

“Pregnant?” Natasha’s eyes widened, her brows shooting up. “That’s wonderful. When? I mean, when the baby? I mean--”

“July,” Clint said. “Due in late July.”

“The twenty-eighth,” Laura added. “Give or take.” She smiled weakly at Natasha. “Are you okay?”

“I’m so excited for you guys.”

Laura let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding in a tremulous sigh. Natasha leapt up and circled around the table to hug them both.

“Be happy,” Natasha whispered to Laura. “I’m happy for you.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas, New Year's and everything that can go wrong, does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of this chapter and ALL of the next chapter will be sad and triggery.

12.22.03; 12:08

Classified (SHIELD Base 616)

“How’s Laura?” Natasha asked as she pulled in her chair.

“She’s good. Tired all the time. You coming home for Christmas?”

Natasha turned her focus as Coulson came into the room. “I don’t know, boss, am I going home for Christmas?”

“Huh?” Coulson looked up from his notes. “Yeah, yeah, this actually is for next year. Early, early January, we’re still waiting on some intel. We’ve found a Ten Rings cell in Qatar.”

“Ten Rings? Seriously?” Clint sat up a little straighter.

“We know next to nothing about these guys, this has the potential to be a huge score for SHIELD. Your Arabic isn’t rusty, is it?” He looked at Natasha.

She shook her head. “Never, sir.” She smirked.

“Good. You two are undercover as disgruntled Hammer Tech employees. You’re looking to score financially as well as get back at your boss by striking an arms deal with these guys. Romanoff, you’re the brilliant, underappreciated weapons engineer. You’re going to distract them with a dazzling demonstration of your designs. Barton, you’re an IT guy, but you’re mainly along as her escort.”

“Hey, are you coming home for Christmas?” Clint asked.

Coulson hesitated. “I don’t think so. I have to get this together. Pay attention.”

***

12.22.03; 13:20

Natasha set a small box next to Coulson’s lunchbox.

“What’s this?”

“Merry Christmas.” Natasha took her seat across from him. “I won’t see you until after, so I thought I should give you your gift early.”

“Oh.” He picked up the box cautiously. “Can I open it now, or should I wait?”

She shrugged and unwrapped her sandwich.

Coulson pursed his lips and examined the carefully wrapped parcel. “I’m going to wait,” he declared.

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “That’s some willpower there.”

“It’s only a few days. I--” he glanced around the cafeteria. “I think I’ll miss you while you’re away. Having something from you to open on Christmas Day will help.”

She smiled softly. “I’ll miss you too.”

“Give Aero my love.”

***

12.24.03; 21:03

42.7300707,-92.5132795 (The Barton Homestead)

Laura bent and plugged in the tree. “Beautiful.”

“Yeah.” Clint gazed at his wife.

“You.” She tugged at her pajamas self-consciously. “We’re going to need a ‘baby’s first Christmas’ ornament next year.”

“Yes, we are.” He pulled her in for a kiss.

“Laura, this one’s you.” Natasha held out a package.

“Yeah, that stack should be the Christmas Eve gifts.” Laura set it in her lap.

“This one’s me.” Natasha set it aside. “And this one’s Clint.” She tossed it towards him.

“Hey, what if it’s fragile?”

“It’s pajamas.” Natasha gave him a supremely unimpressed look.

“You peeked!” Laura accused.

“You told me last year that the tradition is new pajamas for everyone on Christmas Eve.”

“Just open them so I can go to bed,” Laura replied, rolling her eyes. "Killjoy."

“Ooh, I got sheepies!” Natasha unfolded the button-down shirt and matching pants, green and covered in prancing sheep. “They’re so cute.”

“Are these pugs?” Clint held his up.

“Yep.” Laura smiled at him. “You got pugs, I got pigs.”

“Oh!” Natasha exclaimed. “Baby size pajamas! Next Christmas is going to be a-fucking-dorable.”

Laura chuckled and stood, gathering her pajamas. “Good night, family. Growing a human is exhausting."

“I'll clean up,” Natasha said, wadding up her used wrapping paper.

“Thanks.” Clint followed Laura up the stairs with his hand on her lower back.

***

12.25.03; 07:49

Classified (SHIELD Base 616)

Coulson sighed and tapped one finger on top of the small box. Setting down his coffee cup, he picked it up. “Merry Christmas, Natasha.”

He tore the paper off and opened the box. A stainless steel, monogrammed pen gleamed. He picked it up, appreciating the weight in his hand and the smooth coolness of the metal. With a quiet, dignified click, he revealed the point. He smoothed the wrapping paper onto the table, decorated side down, and made a small scribble. He doodled a little star, then signed his name with a flourish.

***

12.31.03; 23:50

Natasha raced down the gangplank of the quinjet. Her backpack bounced on her shoulders as she ran through the corridors. She nearly ran full force into Coulson’s door but stopped herself and knocked.

Coulson turned down his music and stood up from the computer. He opened the door with puzzled frown. His face brightened when he saw Natasha. Before he could speak, she stepped into the spartan dormitory. She threw her arms around him and pulled him into a kiss. With one hand, Phil swatted the door shut, the other braced against her back.

Natasha broke away, breathless. “Happy New Year.”

“You’re about eight minutes early.” Coulson pointed vaguely in the direction of the clock without looking.

“Then kiss me again.”

He nodded and kissed her slower and deeper, with a heat that spread through both of them. He felt a gentle tug on his shirt front as she began undoing the buttons. “I thought we both agreed this was a bad idea?”

“Do you iron your undershirts?” Natasha opened his shirt and stroked the white cotton beneath it.

“Natasha-”

“I don’t want this to be something we regret doing. But I don’t want it to be something we regret not doing either.” Her mouth curved into a familiar half-smile. “So what’s it going to be?”

Phil’s heart raced. He thought his hands might be trembling as he placed them over hers, clutching the plackets of his dress shirt. “I find I always regret the things I don’t do more than the ones I do.” He guided the shirt off his shoulders and let her strip him of it.

Phil had slow, gentle hands but they were certain in what they desired. It set a stark contrast to the sharp, wily hunger of Natasha’s touches. She demanded, fiercely, all that he had. He gave in abundance.

***

01.01.04; 06:14

Coulson smiled blearily and reached out to smooth Natasha’s hair. “You’re a mess.”

“You have lipstick on your hip,” she replied.

Phil looked down before realizing that he was under a blanket. “Very funny.”

She smirked. “I wasn’t even wearing lipstick last night.”

“Well, you’re so naturally beautiful, I think my confusion can be excused.”

Natasha raised her eyebrows. “That was very smooth.” She mock-applauded.

He chuckled and watched her roll gracefully out of the bed. “Is this going to make it difficult or awkward for us to work together?”

She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Not for me.” She shrugged and unzipped her backpack, scavenging for a comb.

“Right now I actually feel better. Like there was this tension and now it’s gone.” He sat up, wrapping a sheet around his waist. He padded over to his dresser.

“Sudden attack of modesty?”

“Maybe it’s a little awkward,” he admitted. “It just feels weird to flash you.”

Natasha straightened up and faced him, still completely nude. Coulson reddened and looked away. She snickered.

“You know what?” Natasha sauntered towards him. “I think this good, I think it’s a good thing. Because before last night, you would’ve reacted the same way. So nothing’s really changed between us.”

He turned away and pulled on a pair of boxers.

“Maybe things are awkward.” She slipped up and hugged him from behind, pressing her breasts into his bare back. “But they’re awkward in the way they’ve always been.”

***

01.04.04; 07:24

“I thought maybe you decided to play hooky,” Coulson teased as Clint hustled to the Quinjet.

“I’m not even late yet,” Barton replied. “Give me a break.”

“Agent Hill is your only backup, she’ll be monitoring communications from the base. She should be able to give you a heads up before any trouble strikes.” Coulson patted a large crate in the bay of the quinjet. “These are--”

Clint’s phone rang.

“Sorry.” He stepped back from the group with a sheepish look. “Hey,” he put the phone to his ear. “This really isn’t -- no, not yet.” The color drained from his face. “Bleeding?”

Natasha’s head came up; suddenly she was as somber and pale as a cemetery statue.

“Have you called your doctor?” Clint brought his hand to his mouth and bit the edge of his thumb. “I’m on my way.” He turned to Phil with a stricken look, tears shining in his eyes.

“Go.” Phil’s tone left no room for argument.

Clint nodded mutely. He looked at his duffle as if he wasn’t sure what to do.

“Have Fury drop you off,” Natasha said. “You’re in no shape to fly or drive.”

Clint nodded again. He tried to gather his composure and headed to Fury’s office. Hill came out of the cockpit just in time to see Barton’s back retreating.

“Where’s he going?”

“Family emergency,” Coulson replied.

“Are we scrapping the mission?” Maria crossed her arms over her chest.

“No. Romanoff, you’re still in?” Phil put his hand on Natasha’s shoulder.

She nodded. “Nothing I can do here.”

“We can’t afford to miss this, I can take Barton’s role.”

***

01.04.04; 06:20

42.7300707,-92.5132795 (The Barton Homestead)

Laura opened her eyes to see Aero with her head on Clint’s pillow. The dog’s tail began to thump against the mattress. Laura reached over and ruffled her ears. “Goofball. C’mon.”

She slipped her feet into her slippers and shuffled into the bathroom, locking the dog out so she could pee in peace. As Laura turned to flush, her gaze fell across the bowl of the toilet and the rust colored smear on the toilet paper. She froze. Pulling her pajamas and underwear back down, she sat again. A spot of blood, no bigger than a dime, darkened the inside of her underwear.

Laura put her hand over her lower abdomen. She didn’t hurt. Nothing felt different. With shaking hands, she unwrapped a pad and stuck it in place. She pulled everything up and flushed the toilet. Her throat felt tight. She tried to just keep breathing as she washed her hands and retrieved her phone from the nightstand.

Laura sat on the edge of the mattress, took a deep breath, and dialed. The phone rang and rang. With each braying tone, her strength began to crumble.

“You’ve reached Central OB-GYN. If you are having a medical emergency, please hang up and dial 911. For appointments, press two. To speak to a nurse, press three. To refill --”

Laura pressed three firmly.

“How can I help you?” A friendly, female voice asked.

“My name is Laura Barton, I’m a patient of Dr. Estrada.” Voice trembling and cracking, Laura quickly explained the situation. After what felt like endless questions, Laura hung up to await a call back.

Aero set her chin on Laura’s knee.

“You still need to go out,” Laura whispered.

Aero’s tail wagged at the word ‘out.’ The dog led the way to the back door. Laura’s fingers were cold as ice as she dialed Clint’s number.

“Hey. This really isn’t --”

“Have you left?” Laura tried to keep the panic out of her voice.

“No, not yet.”

“I --” She bit her lower lip and sniffled, swallowed hard before continuing. “I think something’s wrong. I’m bleeding.”

“Bleeding?”

“Spotting. Like I’m starting my period but….” She blinked back tears.

“Have you called your doctor?” Clint sounded calm. His voice was strong and reassuring.

“I left a message with the nurse. I’m waiting to hear back.” She tapped her fingers against the doorframe, waiting for Aero to come back in. “I’m scared.”

“I’m on my way.”

***

01.04.04; 18:48

24.7479215, 51.0827808 (Ten Rings Base, Qatar)

“Hey, say something.” Maria pressed her finger over her ear and nodded towards Phil.

“What?” Phil frowned.

She fiddled with her comm. “Again.”

“Agent Hill.”

“There we go, I can hear you fine now.” She smiled broadly.

“I’m standing three feet away.”

Maria’s smile vanished. “Through the thing.” She pointed at her ear.

He turned back to the bay of the quinjet and picked up a small case. “Okay, I have the drive. We have the weapons. There’s a laptop for your presentation.” He pointed the laptop case out to Natasha. “Does anyone have any questions?”

“No, sir,” Hill answered.

Romanoff shook her head.

“We’re heading out to the base early tomorrow, so let’s grab a meal and everyone get a good night’s sleep.”

“We literally just woke up,” Maria objected. “I had breakfast two hours ago.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “It’s a nine-hour time difference. You have to learn to account for that.”

**

01.04.04; 07:37

42.7300707,-92.5132795 (The Barton Homestead)

Aero stepped off the couch when Clint came in. She approached slowly, head down, tail waving rather than vigorously wagging. Laura unfurled from her end of the couch and stood.

“How are you doing?” Clint wrapped his arms around his wife.

Laura pressed into his chest, breathing him in. She pulled back and looked up at him with tears shining in her eyes. “Aero knows something’s wrong. I mean, I’ve done nothing but cry since we got off the phone, so it’s pretty obvious, but she’s been looking after me.”

“Did you hear back from the doctor yet?” Clint flashed a weak smile at the dog, standing behind Laura with a slow-wagging tail.

“Yeah, if I start bleeding to death, I should go to the ER. Otherwise they’ll see me tomorrow.”

“To-tomorrow?” Clint paused, his hand curling into a fist.

“Yeah.” Laura shrugged. “I guess it’s not that big a deal?”

“If you want to go, we’ll go, bleeding to death or not.” He tossed his bag in the general direction of the hall closet. “And remind me to return that.”

Laura shook her head and went to straighten up the duffle from its awkward landing position. Clint put a hand on her arm.

“I’ll get it. The new body armor is thinner but I swear it weighs more.” He picked the bag back up and set it neatly on the floor of the hall closet.

“So now what?” Laura asked. “I’m on pelvic rest until I see the doctor, so don’t even suggest it.”

“Movie? Something light.”

***

01.04.04; 22:37

24.7479215, 51.0827808 (Ten Rings Base, Qatar)

Coulson rapped lightly on the frame of Natasha’s door. His lips twitched into a brief smile as he heard the chain rattle, and Natasha opened the door.

“How are you?”

“I’m ready for tomorrow.” She gave a nod with a determined set to her jaw. “I won’t let you down.”

Phil shook his head. “I’m not here about the mission. I’m worried too. I wish I knew what was happening with Barton.”

Natasha frowned at him. “You ought to be worried about the mission. It’s important and if you screw up, you’ll get both of us and maybe Hill killed. Focus, Coulson.”

“You’re very good at this compartmentalizing thing.”

Her lower lip trembled, and her chin dimpled as she tensed her jaw. “I have to. If I screw this up, I’ll get both of us and maybe Hill killed.” She glanced up at the ceiling and swallowed hard.

He pulled her into a hug, and Natasha stiffened, holding her breath. A high pitched squeak escaped her. Phil held tight. With a strangled cry, Natasha collapsed against his chest. Her body shook with near-silent sobs. The worst of the storm seemed to pass and she laid her cheek against the damp front of his shirt.

“Do you think Laura’s going to lose the baby?” Natasha’s voice, weak from crying, sounded foreign.

Phil shook his head and shrugged his shoulders lightly. “I -- I don’t -- what I know about pregnancy couldn’t fill a thimble. Bleeding seems bad.”

“You saw Clint’s face.” She looked up at him.

“I did.” Phil nodded, pursing his lips.

“I wish he was here. That would mean that everything was fine.”

“I’m here.” He kissed her forehead. “Big day tomorrow. Get some sleep.”

“I’ll try,” Natasha said, but she shook her head. She glanced at the queen-sized bed. “Stay?”

His expression, already somber, fell even further.

“You can’t,” she guessed, her voice soft. “Because it’s not appropriate. Even if all we do is sleep, it looks bad.”

He wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“I understand.” Natasha pulled out of his arms. “You should go, before someone gets the wrong idea.”

Phil sighed. His fingers squeezed the knot in his tie. His nostrils flared as he drew a deep breath. “Maybe I put too much emphasis on propriety.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Don’t say that if you don’t mean it.”

He pulled the tie loose emphatically.

***

01.04.04; 14:56

42.7300707,-92.5132795 (The Barton Homestead)

Laura frowned as Clint scurried past with another laundry basket. “Honey?”

“Yes?” He stopped in his tracks and turned to her attentively.

“I’m pretty sure you’re washing things that already clean at this point.”

Clint looked into the basket. “Well, I mean, not really. I mean, we haven’t used them but these sheets have been sitting in the linen closet for months. They’re dusty.”

She gave him a gentle smile. “Clint….”

He set the laundry at the end of the couch and went to her. “I’m sorry. I just can’t sit right now. Do you need me? You want me to sit with you?”

“Don’t forget the guest towels.”

***

01.05.04; 05:00

24.7479215, 51.0827808 (Ten Rings Base, Qatar)

Coulson frowned as he tried to smooth the wrinkles out of his shirt with his hand. “Hold on, can I hang this in there?” He gestured towards the bathroom. “You’re going to shower, right? Maybe the steam will help.”

Natasha took the shirt and examined it critically. “Yeah, I’ll take a long, hot shower, and then you can hit the lapels with a flat iron.”

“A flat iron?”

She tilted her head at him and flipped her hair with one hand. “In my bag.”

***

01.04.04; 21:00

42.7300707,-92.5132795 (The Barton Homestead)

If he stared at the insides of his eyelids long enough, the darkness ceased to be solid black; colors swirled through his field of vision, pulsing and shifting. His wife rolled onto her side and sighed.

“Are you asleep?” Her hand alighted on his chest.

Clint opened his eyes. “No. You?”

“I can’t. I need to know.” She wiggled closer. “Is it dumb to go into the ER this late?”

Clint’s arm tightened around her. “Let’s go.”

***

01.05.04; 07:30

24.7479215, 51.0827808 (Ten Rings Base, Qatar)

Natasha avoided making eye contact with Coulson as she talked about the weapons. She deliberately slowed and struggled with her Arabic; the men patiently nodded along. “Now this footage is a simulation but it does accurately-- uh-- simulate the power of these missiles.”

***

01.04.04; 23:30

42.7077304,-92.5658116 (An ER in Iowa)

The nurse held out a plastic cup then glanced at the chart and frowned. “Wait, let’s see if we can get you in for an ultrasound while your bladder is full and we’ll do this after.”

Clint squeezed Laura’s hand.

The nurse returned with a wheelchair. “Ready?”

“I can walk,” Laura replied.

“Hospital policy.”

Clint walked next to the wheelchair, still holding her hand. He swallowed hard as she situated herself on the table, pulling her shirt up and the waistband of her pants down.

The nurse neatly tucked a towel into the top of Laura’s pants to protect them from the gel she squeezed over the exposed skin.

Laura drew a shaky breath.

“Cold?” Clint asked.

Laura shook her head.

“We actually warm the gel.” The nurse smiled at him briefly. She moved the wand over Laura’s abdomen, carefully studying the screen.

Clint leaned over to peek. “I don’t know what I’m looking for.”

“All done. I’ll have the radiologist view this and then a doctor will be in to talk to you.”

***

01.05.04; 08:30

24.7479215, 51.0827808 (Ten Rings Base, Qatar)

“The superheated flash at impact is designed to maximize casualties but actually minimizes damage to surrounding structures, making it ideal for--”

“What are you doing?” A man shouted in Arabic.

Coulson froze. “What? What?”

The man leveled a pistol at Coulson. “What are you doing?” he repeated, in English.

“Oh, I -uh, bathroom. El baño?” He held up his hands and pointed down at his crotch.

Natasha held her breath.

One of the men said something that was lost under the report of single gunshot in an enclosed space. Phil’s eyes and mouth both opened wide as he crumpled to the floor.

Natasha shrieked. “Benny! Oh God!” She surged forward. “Oh God, you shot him!” She knelt next to Phil. “Benny?”  Her hand slipped into his pocket, palming the device.

Blood soaked the front of Phil’s shirt.

***

01.04.04; 01:30

42.7077304,-92.5658116 (An ER in Iowa)

“No matter how often I do this, it never gets any easier.” The doctor looked at them sympathetically.

Clint pulled Laura into his chest.

“According to your last menstrual period, you should be about eleven weeks along. Normally, the heartbeat can be found after nine weeks, but we were unable to detect it on the ultrasound. You’ve suffered what we call a fetal demise.”

Laura’s sob cut him off.

Clint glared at the doctor as if daring him to say more.

“I’m so sorry. I’ll give you two a few minutes.”

***


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hearts break. Blood flows.

01.05.04; 08:48

24.7479215, 51.0827808 (Ten Rings Base, Qatar)

Natasha continued to scream, alternating between calling out to Benny and to God. She flailed weakly as two of them dragged her into a cell, dumping her onto the floor. She scaled back to sobbing, allowing her hysterics to taper off. The room held nothing that could be used as a weapon. She pulled the comm out of her ear and hid both her communicator and the drive precariously tucked between the lip of the toilet’s lid and the the tank. She huddled into the far corner of the cell and waited.

  
***  
  
01.05.04; 08:43  
  
24.7845148, 50.8447855 (Very Near the Ten Rings Base, Qatar)  


Hill jumped and put her fingers to the comm as Natasha’s scream nearly ruptured her eardrum. She leaned forward, focusing the binoculars on the base. The gunshot. The screaming.

“You shot him.”

Maria’s heart pounded, her hands clammy as she scanned the area. Two men pushed a stretcher out one of the doors. There was no distance at which Maria Hill could have failed to recognize Director Fury’s right hand man. She watched them load Coulson into a truck and watched a moment longer.

“This is Special Agent Hill, I need an emergency medical evacuation. Agent Coulson’s been shot.”

***

01.05.04; 03:30

42.7077304,-92.5658116 (An ER in Iowa)

“I’ll send everything over to Dr. Estrada’s office.” The ER doctor gestured with Laura’s chart. “Right now, there’s no indication of any complications, nothing going wrong.”

Clint’s jaw twitched.

“Other than the obvious, of course,” the man added. “Get some rest and follow up with her in the morning. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

Laura trembled with every inhalation, every exhalation a whimper.

The center of Clint’s chest burned with a heavy pain.

***

01.05.04; 09:00

24.7479215, 51.0827808 (Ten Rings Base, Qatar)

Hill jumped out of her car and took aim across the hood, using the vehicle for cover. Her first shot took out one of the rear tires. Her second shot took out one of the front ones. The truck skidded to a stop on the dusty road. Maria drew a deep breath.

The driver’s door opened, and one of the men got out.

She cocked her head slightly, using the curtain of her hair to block the sun’s glare. As she breathed out, she squeezed the trigger once more.

Blood and bone -- skull fragments -- and a mess of other human detritus coated the side of the truck.

“Hold position,” a voice in Hill’s ear instructed. “We’re less than a minute out.”

“One hostile remaining, in the back of the truck with Coulson.” She took aim at the rear door.

***

01.05.04; 09:53

24.7479215, 51.0827808 (Ten Rings Base, Qatar)

An older man with a grizzled beard opened the door. His footsteps echoed as he stomped into the cell. Natasha cowered from him.

“Who are you really?” he asked in English.

Eyes wide and shining with tears, she craned her neck to look up at him. “Are you going to kill me?”

“Perhaps.” He grabbed her by the hair, and she yelped as he dragged her to her feet. “Who are you?”

The man reeked of clove cigarettes and Natasha recoiled as his hot breath hit her face.

“Megan Kerry.” Her voice quavered.

He growled and wrapped his fingers around her throat. “Who do you work for?”

“Hammer Tech Industries,” she sobbed out each word. “Please.”

Four others filed into the room, armed with M16s. Her eyes flitted to each of them and she let out a little whimper. Curiosity burned bright at the forefront of her thoughts. She had questions she wanted answered.

***

01.05.04; 04:21

42.7300707,-92.5132795 (The Barton Homestead)

Clint circled around the front of the truck and opened Laura’s door. “Come on, babe.”

“I don’t understand,” Laura whispered. “I don’t drink. I don’t smoke. I cut back to half a cup of coffee. I started taking my prenatal vitamins the same day I stopped taking my birth control.” She met Clint’s eyes. “I did everything right.”

He nodded, his throat tight, and held out his hand.

“It's not fair.” Laura took his hand and eased out of the truck.

***

01.05.04; 12:41

24.466667, 54.366669 (Burjeel Hospital, Abu Dhabi)

Hill picked at her nails, tapping her heel against the tiled floor. She put her thumb to her mouth, touching the rough edge of the nail with the tip of her tongue. Her teeth pressed down.

“Agent Hall?”

She sprang to her feet, wiping her hand on her slacks. “It's Hill.” She drew a deep breath and sized up the doctor. “How is he?”

“Well, I got the bleeding stopped and his lung reinflated.”

Hill sighed. “Thank you.”

“So he’s stable, but under close observation.”

***

01.05.04; 14:18

24.7479215, 51.0827808 (Ten Rings Base, Qatar)

Natasha grunted as the butt of the rifle broke two of her ribs.

“Hydra?” The man shouted. “Who? Who sent you here?”

She shook her head weakly. “Please, I’m not any of those things. My name is Megan. I graduated from Stanford. I work for Hammer Tech.”

“SHIELD?” He leaned in, peering at her face.

The strap of her bra slid off her shoulder. His touch was nauseatingly gentle as he moved it back into place.

She shook her head again. “I told you. I’ve worked for Hammer for three years. Before that, I worked for CyberTek. They fired me when they found out I’d faked some of my credentials.”

The man unsheathed a large knife. “That’s not who you really are.” He knelt and pressed the tip of the blade under the nail of her toe.

“I’m from Littleton, Colorado,” she insisted. “My dad’s name is Jim, my mom left when I was six. I have a cat named Gatsby and I don’t want to die. Please!” Natasha rushed her words, escalating to a scream as he thrust the knife into her nail bed. “Please!”

They’d been dancing all around SHIELD. Finally, it was on the table. Time to find out what these men knew.

***

01.05.04; 20:16

24.466667, 54.366669 (Burjeel Hospital, Abu Dhabi)

“You look well,” Hill lied.

Coulson’s stumbling fingers limped across his bed tray, dragging his hand. He picked up a pencil and fumbled with it for a moment.

Hill quickly stepped in close and held the paper still as he scrawled.

“ROMANOFF?”

Hill covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes growing large. “I -- I don’t know. I followed when they brought you out.”

The pain and exhaustion in his eyes were swallowed up by the brewing storm of anger. “LEFT HER.”

“I’m sure she’s fine. Let me, let me get my comm, I’ll try to raise her. I’m sure she’s…” Hill trailed off and swallowed. “I can go back and make sure. I’ll take care of it. I’ll make this right.”

***

01.05.04; 22:57

24.7479215, 51.0827808 (Ten Rings Base, Qatar)

“The man who came with you --the man we shot-- was he your boyfriend?”

Natasha shook her head. “We work together. We went for drinks one time.” She sniffled. “Is he dead?”

“Did you sleep with him?”

“No.”

Eight men filled the small cell; half of them had weapons drawn and ready for use. They shifted their weight, occasionally exchanging glances or a few words in Arabic.

“Are you going to kill me?” Natasha asked.

“I think you’re never going to see your cat again. You say you worked with him, but he worked for SHIELD.”

She shook her head. “You’re wrong, Benny-”

The man slapped her across the face. “Lies! I’m sick of your lies!” He shoved her backwards onto the floor, and she landed awkwardly with her bound wrists trapped under her. The men advanced, closing ranks around her.

***

01.06.04; 09:35

24.466667, 54.366669 (Burjeel Hospital, Abu Dhabi)

Hill flinched. She’d never actually seen anyone being extubated before. Her shoulders tightened as Coulson gagged. He coughed hard enough that she was sure he would throw up, but he didn’t.

“Easy,” the doctor said.

“Get me a team,” Coulson rasped.

***

01.06.04; 11:03

24.7479215, 51.0827808 (Ten Rings Base, Qatar)

Natasha ground her teeth, struggling to ignore the maddening itch of blood drying on her skin.She breathed in through her nose, out through her slightly parted lips, and did her best impression of a woman near catatonia. The glassy-eyed stare allowed her to better use her peripheral vision. The crowd had trickled out, many of them losing interest when she stopped struggling and screaming.   A gurgling gasp escaped her as one of the two remaining captors forced himself on her. The other man, leaning on the wall, looked at the door.

“Still nothing,” a quiet voice in the hallway intoned. A pause and then, “perhaps Bell misjudged her.”

Natasha closed her eyes, combing her memory for anyone named Bell. There was a Jeffrey Bell in communications. A Lola Bell in accounting.

“Keep working on her.” Natasha recognized the voice of their bearded leader. “She has no loyalty to SHIELD.”

The grunting of the man on top of her drowned out the underling’s response. The guard at the door straightened up and held his weapon at the ready.

“She’s a traitor,” the leader stated. “I’ll prove it. It’s only a matter of time. And pressure.”

The door opened.

“Get out.”

The man on Natasha panted. “I’m almost done.”

“Get out.” The leader strode towards them and the man scrambled away. He fumbled to fasten his pants as he hurried out of the cell; the leader glowered at his back until the door slammed shut behind him.

They were alone. Natasha breathed shallowly and stared at the point where the wall met the ceiling. She’d been waiting and her patience was finally rewarded. She began to manipulate her hand inside the cuffs. He stood over her, straddling one of her legs, and swung his foot forward in a low kick. A shriek tore from her lips. Bright spots of color bloomed in her vision. She gasped, the scream had wrung every bit of air from her lungs.

“I know who you are, Black Widow. Confess.” He unsheathed his knife. “Give me something, some secret of SHIELD to exploit, and I will let you live.”

She drew a deep breath through clenched teeth and looked him dead in the eye, suddenly focused and clear. “My name is Megan Kerry. I work for Hammer Tech.” She recited her lies in a flat monotone.

He knelt beside her. The light gleamed on his knife, projecting a little white rectangle onto the wall.

“I was born in Littleton, Colorado. Graduated from Stanford.” Her voice stayed steady as she twisted and pulled against the cuffs. One hand slipped out, scraping a sliver of skin off her thumb. She jerked back as she came free, shuddering away from the blade touching her stomach. Gripping the empty shackle in her bound hand, she swung for his eyes.

He’d been advancing, the knife thirsty for blood, and her attack forced him to throw himself back. He landed awkwardly, the knife skittering free as he caught himself on his hands.

Natasha was quick to pick it up. His eyes widened until she could see the white ringing the whole of his dark iris. His pupils expanded. As he opened his mouth to cry out for his men, she slit his throat.

***

01.06.04; 11:49

24.466667, 54.366669 (Burjeel Hospital, Abu Dhabi)

“I have the right and the ability to sign myself out AMA.” Coulson tried to raise his voice but it cracked. He cleared his throat.

“Sir, there’s ‘against medical advice’ and then there’s suicide,” the nurse objected.

Hill handed him a cup of ice water.

Coulson spared her a glance as he took a sip. “Just get the goddamn paperwork over here.” He rapped on his tray table.

“No.” Fury’s voice cut through the bustle of the room. He crossed his arms over his chest.

“I’m lead on this mission,” Phil objected.

“No, you were lead on the mission to recover intel from a Ten Rings cell.” He took a stack of papers from the nurses hand and glanced at them. “I’m lead on the mission to rescue Romanoff and figure out what in the high holy hell happened.” He frowned at the papers. “You idiot.”

***

01.05.04; 07:21

42.7300707,-92.5132795 (The Barton Homestead)

Laura wrapped both hands around the mug and stared at the steam wafting off it. “I guess I can drink as much coffee as I want. I could’ve had that glass of champagne on New Year’s.”

Aero propped her chin on Laura’s leg.

Clint sat across from her. “How are you feeling?”

Laura touched her abdomen lightly. “The same. It feels like it should hurt, but it doesn’t really. Clint?”

He looked up and met her eyes.

“I don’t want to try again.”

Hurt flashed through his expression no matter how hard he tried to hide it. “We don’t have to decide that right now,” he said.

“You’re not listening.” Her voice was quiet and gentle. “I’ve decided. I don’t want to go through this again.”

“It won’t always be like this.” He projected a confidence he didn’t feel.

“You don’t know that.”

***

01.06.04; 12:08

24.7479215, 51.0827808 (Ten Rings Base, Qatar)

Natasha dressed slowly, trembling as adrenaline began to fade. Every movement sent fresh shockwaves of pain through her. She retrieved her comm and the flash drive. She turned the communicator over between her fingers and stared at it. A bloody fingerprint smudged across the side. She wiped at the print with her thumb, smearing it. Bile rising in her throat, she tucked the tiny comm into her pocket. The leader had a small pistol in an ankle holster. She took both the weapon and the holster. She kept the knife as well.

Only three enemies between her and the base’s computer systems. A quiet blade to the throat avoided raising an alarm. Natasha searched through the files as she copied them onto the drive. Her legs shook. She leaned into the desk for support.

The first thing that became immediately obvious was that this was not a Ten Rings cell. The Mandarin wouldn’t have tolerated anything so amateurish. Files left unencrypted. Not even a password. She shivered and began opening them systematically.

***

01.06.04; 13:19

24.466667, 54.366669 (Burjeel Hospital, Abu Dhabi)

“Everything about the mission seemed copacetic going in?” Fury stood next to Phil’s hospital bed, watching the parking lot through the window.

“It was too good to be true.” Phil shook his head. “I should’ve known better. I didn’t want to look closely.” Phil breathed slowly.

“I started looking closely after things went to shit.” Fury looked over his shoulder at the injured agent. “You were set up.”

“Who?”

Fury winced. “I”m looking into it.”

That meant only one thing.

“Someone at SHIELD did this?” Phil’s voice trembled. “Why?”

Fury’s gaze turned back to the window.

“Are--are they trying to get her killed? I know Romanoff’s unpopular--”

“Unpopular doesn’t begin to cover it, Phil. People don’t trust her. I don’t blame them.”

“I trust her. And you’re dragging your feet on her retrieval because it’s either too late or you’re waiting for it to be too late. You want her dead.” Phil picked up his pen. “That was the mission back in ninety-eight, and it’s the mission now.”

“I actually don’t. Setting up something like this isn’t a one-man job,” Fury replied. “I’m trying to put together a team that will actually help her and not just find her body.”

Phil slammed the bedrail down with a loud thunk. “You want a team you can trust? Get me May, Saunders, Kurtzburg, Montoya, Vinson--”

“Vinson’s a suspect.”

Halfway out of bed, Coulson froze. “Son of a--”

***

01.06.04; 14:38

24.7479215, 51.0827808 (Ten Rings Base, Qatar)

Natasha left the communicator on the desk next to the computer. She turned into the corridor, two guards began to raise their guns. She already had the pistol ready. One bullet each, between the eyes. She limped past the bodies. Darkness encroached in her peripheral vision. Pinpricks of white danced in front of her eyes.

The gunshots brought more guards. She picked up an assault rifle from one of the dead men.

***

01.06.04; 15:21

24.7479215, 51.0827808 (Ten Rings Base, Qatar)

“I guess we don’t have to worry about stealth,” Hill murmured. The smoke rising from the ruins stung her eyes.

“There’s a truck missing.” Coulson pointed to a small collection of vehicles. “They could’ve taken her somewhere else, burned this down to cover their tracks.”

“All of them? In one truck?” Fury looked at him. “I know you got shot in the chest, I didn’t realized you’d bumped your head.”

“Well, let’s get in there and check it out,” Saunders said with a sigh.  
“Change in plans. May and Vinson, stay here, keep the site secured. You can start IDing bodies if you get bored. The rest of us split into three teams and start searching, I want to know where that truck went,” Fury directed. “Coulson, you’re with me.”

“If you think Vinson’s involved, why the hell is he here?” Phil demanded as he slammed the door of the SUV shut.

“Because May can handle him.” Fury gestured out the windshield. “Which way?”

“Northeast.”

Fury started the engine. “Why northeast?”

“Doha. They’ve got the international airport and the coastline. It’s the best way out of the country.”

***

01.06.04; 15:56

24.6461366, 51.1486212

“You did fine.” Agent Saunders didn’t take his eyes off the road as he drove.

“I left her behind,” Hill replied.

“You probably saved Coulson’s life. No one could’ve predicted the mission going this badly. If they had, you’d’ve had more backup.” The SUV slowed.

“There’s tracks.” Hill pointed out the window. “Could be the truck.”

Saunders followed, turning off the paved road. He stopped when the truck came into view. Hill was already out of the vehicle.

“Wait!”

“Cover me,” she replied. “I’ll check it out.”

Hill crept towards the vehicle, weapon drawn. She yanked the door open and pressed herself against the body of the truck. Nothing happened. She glanced towards Saunders. The senior agent had, at least, unholstered his Smith and Wesson. He took aim at the open door and nodded. Hill peeked inside.

Romanoff slumped in the driver’s seat. A fly perched on her thigh, tasting the blood that soaked through her pants.

“It’s her!” Hill shouted. She turned to gesture to Saunders. “I found--” Maria’s words caught in her throat. Her eyes widened as a knife pressed against the side of her neck. The grip on her hair tightened, pointing her chin towards the sky. “Romanoff?” she squeaked. “It’s me, it’s Maria. We, um, we had lunch together once, remember?”

The blade sagged.

“There’s a lot of blood in that truck, are you hurt?” Hill couched her voice low and soft, hoping she didn’t sound condescending. A few strands of hair near her ear fluttered with Natasha’s breath. “I can call for a medical team.”

“Just let me go,” Natasha whispered.

The knife moved away; fingers untangled from Maria’s hair. Slowly, she turned back to face the truck and the woman inside. She nodded and took a step back. “Sure.” Hill holstered her glock and raised her hands. “Sure thing. I’m not here to hurt you.”

She continued backing away. Another SUV pulled in next to Saunders. Fury and Coulson strode towards the truck. Romanoff reached out to pull the door closed and fell. She landed hard on the sand, and Hill winced. She looked over her shoulder. Coulson broke into a run.

“Phil!” Fury yelled.

Phil fell to his knees next to Natasha, panting. He grimaced and pressed his palm against his ribs as pain flared through his side. She pulled away from him, the knife coming up again.

“It’s me.” He looked into her face intently. “It’s me.” Coulson stifled a cough. “Medical team’s inbound. Stay with me.”

The blade landed on the ground. Natasha opened her other hand, revealing the flash drive. Coulson glanced down at it. He lifted his hand and coughed into his wrist, flecks of blood hitting the cuff of his sleeve. He clamped his arm around his side and looked back into her eyes.

She stared at him, her face calm and composed. “Did you know?”

A quinjet landed and medics swarmed out. The pinched lines of pain around Phil’s eyes faded as his face went softly slack. Color blanched from his cheeks. He blinked slowly and mouthed the word no. He shook his head, barely moving. He shook again, harder, clearing his mind.

“I didn’t know.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fallout. In which there's not enough strength to go around and everyone needs someone to lean on.

01.12.04; 09:08

24.466667, 54.366669 (Burjeel Hospital, Abu Dhabi)

Fury lingered near the door until Romanoff set aside her crossword puzzle and looked over at him.

“Have you heard from Barton?”

“When he left, he told me not to call. I haven’t. Neither has he.” Fury took it as permission to come deeper into the room, but he didn’t get too close. 

Romanoff was pale. Her hair hung lank and darker than usual; it didn’t catch the light the way it did when it was clean. She had dark circles under her eyes and faint crows feet. 

“I reviewed everything on the drive. Anyone I could prove was involved has been dealt with. Eight agents total.” 

Natasha’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Dealt with?”

“Fired. And blacklisted. Bell’s facing criminal charges for embezzlement. Those mercenaries might have been paid with SHIELD’s money, but it wasn’t authorized.”

She made an unimpressed noise in the back of her throat and looked away. She picked up her pencil again.

“I know it’s not enough,” Fury’s voice was low. “I can’t torture them. I can’t do to them what they did to you. Too much red tape.”

“They would have killed me if I hadn’t escaped. You sure as hell weren’t going to rescue me.” She looked him up and down coldly. “Sir.”

“I led the team to get you out. It was too little too late. I am sorry about that.”

Natasha scoffed. “You reviewed everything on that drive?”

Fury blinked and looked down. “I did.”

“I made sure the security footage got copied over. I think that’s proof of my loyalty.” She straightened up a little in the hospital bed. “So where’s my proof that the eight people you got rid of were the only ones involved?”

“I don’t have any.” He shook his head. “I haven’t abandoned the investigation, but I don’t think anyone would blame you if you chose not to come back to SHIELD. We’ll cover any medical expenses resulting from this incident and I can offer you a generous severance package. Not something we usually do when an agent resigns but these are extenuating circumstances.”

She smirked. “You know your vocabulary gets bigger the more uncomfortable you are in a situation.”

“Does it?” He cocked his head. “I guess I’ve never noticed.” He pressed his lips into a thin smile. “What’ll it be?”

“Shove your severance package. I’m not going to let anyone scare me off.” Natasha picked up the crossword and gave the paper a crisp shake. “I’m cleared to return to light duty in six weeks.”

“I’m sure I don’t need to explain to you how important it is that SHIELD’s involvement not become public knowledge.” He clasped his hands, rocking on his heels. 

“That means you’re going to have to trust me.” She smirked at him over the top of the page.

His expression remained stone cold.

She smoothed the paper out on the bed tray and twirled the pencil once. “And I want the names of those eight agents.” She watched him out of the corner of her eye. 

A frown flickered across the director’s face. His weight shifted. After a brief pause, he nodded. “I can give you that, but I want to know why.”

“I need to determine for myself who else might be sympathetic to their plight.” She turned her attention to the puzzle. 

“I’ll get you access to my investigation.” Fury turned to the door. “Anything else?”

“Five letters: biblical betrayer.” She pursed her lips, tapped the pencil against the paper and looked over at him. 

Fury swallowed, his hand on the knob. “Judas.”

***

01.12.04; 07:26

42.7300707,-92.5132795 (The Barton Homestead)

A crease formed between Clint’s brows as he put his hand on Laura’s arm. “Are you okay? Do you need--” he shook his head “something?”

She shook her head, eyes shining. “It hurts a lot more this morning.”

“Do you want to go to the hospital?”

She shook her head again. “It’s like bad cramps. Dr. Estrada said it might feel like this.”

“She prescribed you pain meds, you want one?” Clint offered.

Laura leaned against the wall, clutching her abdomen with both hands. “Maybe,” she groaned. 

Clint took the stairs two at a time. He was back moments later with a glass of water, a prescription bottle, and a heating pad. “Come sit on the couch, baby.” 

***

01.12.04; 12:57

24.466667, 54.366669 (Burjeel Hospital, Abu Dhabi)

Hill glanced up at him and quickly looked down at the floor, rubbing the back of her neck with one hand. 

“Hi.”

“Sorry, Agent Coulson.” She shook her head. “No visitors. Director Fury’s orders.”

Phil smiled. “I’m sure -- ”

“No exceptions,” she cut him off. “He specifically said not to let you in. By name.”

His smile evaporated. “By his order or by her request?” He nodded to the door. 

“I think Agent Romanoff could be forgiven for not wanting visitors. I’m really sorry I screwed this up.” Hill tugged at her hair gently. 

Coulson looked down at the lunch tray in his hands. “I’m the one who screwed up.”

“Yeah, getting shot was a real rookie move.”

He frowned at her. “I --”

“It was a joke. Geez, what clearance level do they confiscate your sense of humor?” She shook her head slightly.

“Oh.” Phil cleared his throat. “Uh, five.”

***   
01.15.04; 13:00

Classified (SHIELD Base 616)

Coulson’s gaze fell on the empty table where he and Natasha usually had lunch. The soles of his shoes scraped across the tile as he trudged to his usual seat. Fury had told him that she was back at the base. He sat, scanning his surroundings. The tables mostly sat four people each, and the cafeteria bustled with the lunch crowd. 

He saw May first. Romanoff sat across from her; Hill and Saunders filled the other two seats. By the man’s expression and gestures, it was evident that Saunders was retelling one of his old war stories. May shook her head and rolled her eyes. 

Phil stood back up. His knuckles whitened as he gripped his lunchbox. Head high, he walked over to the table. “Room for one more?”

“Of course.” Affable, ebullient Saunders scooted closer to Hill. “Pull over a chair.”

Natasha rose from her seat. “Take mine. I’m done.”

Phil drew a deep breath and opened his mouth but couldn’t speak. He just stood there, holding his breath, gaping like a hooked fish, and watched her walk away.

“It wasn’t your fault,” May said as he sat.

“She disagrees. She thinks I was involved.” Phil sighed and opened his lunch box. 

“Were you?”

Both May and Saunders glared at Hill. The younger agent shrugged. 

“My point,” Maria added. “Is that there’s no point in feeling guilty over her perception. If you didn’t do anything wrong, then you didn’t do anything wrong. She’ll come around.”

“Or she won’t,” May replied. “You can’t pretend she’s wrong for feeling betrayed.”

Phil’s shoulders sagged. 

Saunders rested his elbows on the table and propped his chin on his hands. “We’re probably all a little to blame.”

Phil snapped his lunch box closed and flinched at the sound. “I need to talk to her.”

***

01.12.04; 12:48

42.7300707,-92.5132795 (The Barton Homestead)

Laura leaned into Clint’s chest. He stroked her arm absentmindedly. Both stared at the television without really seeing it. Her face contorted, and she uttered a groan. Clint sat up straight as she hauled herself off the couch. 

“Laura?”

“Just going to the bathroom.” 

He watched the slow way she moved, wincing with every step. The door closed behind her, and he leaned back into the couch cushions. Aero placed her head in his lap. Clint looked down at the dog and smiled. “You’re going to have to move when Laura comes back.”

Aero’s tail thumped against the couch. Clint ruffled her ears. He hit pause on a movie no one was watching and headed into the kitchen. Rifling through the pantry, he frowned. After a brief search, he settled on a can of soup and set it out on the counter. He looked out at the vacant couch. The bathroom door, still closed. Clint padded over to the bathroom and frowned at the door. 

***

01.15.04; 13:26

Classified (SHIELD Base 616)

Phil froze outside Natasha’s door, hand raised to knock but hovering in midair. He shuffled forward and leaned his forehead head against the wood, his palm resting on the wall. His fingers curled inward and he rapped his knuckles gently against the frame. “Natasha,” he whispered, willing her to both hear and not hear him.

He drew in a quavering breath and jumped at a hand on his shoulder. He spun to face Melinda. 

“Come on.” She squeezed his shoulder.

“Where?”

“Psych.”

“I don’t need to go to psych.” He frowned and started to pull away from her touch.

“You have PTSD and survivor’s guilt, even though no one died. She can’t help you.” May looked pointedly at the door. “She isn’t qualified and frankly, given what she’s been through, it’s not fair of you to ask.”

***

01.12.04; 13:00

42.7300707,-92.5132795 (The Barton Homestead)

The bathroom door opened. Laura looked paler. “I think that was it,” she whispered.

“It?” Clint reached for her.

She grimaced and tucked herself into his embrace. “There was a pretty big clot. I couldn’t bring myself to look.” She blinked rapidly as her eyes filled. “I feel different though.” She sniffled. 

***

02.14.04; 06:02

Classified (SHIELD Base 616)

Coulson carefully balanced the cardboard drink carrier in one hand and knocked with the other. Natasha opened the door and sighed.

“I brought coffee.” He held out the drinks. “And apologies.”

She took a cup. “Keep the apologies.”

“I screwed up.” Phil braced his palm against her door. “I should have been paying more attention. I should’ve known something was off about the mission. I dropped the ball, and I’m sorry.” He swallowed. “But I didn’t set you up.”

She lifted the cup and inhaled the fragrant steam. “I’d probably forgive you even if you had.” She beckoned him into her quarters. “Swear you didn’t know?”

Coulson nodded solemnly. “Please believe me.”

Natasha relished the warmth of the coffee in her hands, seeping into her fingers. “I believe you. I forgive you.”

He let out a breath, shoulders sagging.

“I don’t want to,” she continued. “I really kind of want to just hate you forever.” She looked down at the coffee. “But I need a friend.”

Phil leaned forward, nodding earnestly. “I’m your friend.”

***

03.08.04; 09:40

Classified (SHIELD Base 616)

Clint carefully adjusted the tension on the bow and gave the string a tug. Natasha picked up an arrow, balancing it on her outstretched finger.

“How’s Laura?”

“She has inflamed cartilage in her sternum and ribcage from crying so hard.” 

Natasha flinched. “I’m sorry.”

“You could’ve come to see us.” He set the bow aside and swallowed hard. “I want to be strong for her, but that was my baby too.”

She laid the arrow next to the bow and put her hand on his shoulder. He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. She rubbed small circles, letting her hand drift to his back and stepping in closer. Clint shuddered. His head came to rest against her stomach. 

“Hasn’t been enough strength to go around lately.” Her shoulders rolled forward as she draped herself over him protectively. “I’m sorry. I’m here now.”

He wrapped both arms around her hips. His breath came in hitching gasps. She combed her fingers through his hair, nails lightly scratching his scalp, rubbing his back with her other hand. 

She thought of James, in very much this same position but with only one arm wrapped around her. When he was at his lowest, he never wanted the metal hand to touch her. 

“I wish I knew what to say to make this easier for both of you. I’d’ve never wished this on my worst enemy.” She glanced up at the ceiling, blinking back her own tears as Clint let loose.

He lacked the energy to sob. He trembled, and the tears slid from his eyes, soaking into her shirt. The weight of her hands grounded him. Finally, he leaned back, wiping his face with his sleeves. Natasha stepped away, coming back with a cup of water. 

“Drink. Then eat. Then rest. Repeat.”

He took the cup and stared at the water’s surface. 

***

03.11.04; 13:10

“After lunch, I’m going to hit the range for some practice time.” Maria sipped a diet coke. “You want to join?”

Natasha’s eyes immediately narrowed in suspicion. “Okay.”

Hill smiled. “Up to a little friendly competition?”

“Against you?” Natasha replied. “At the range? That’s hardly a competition.”

“Ooh, I like it. The bigger the ego, the harder they fall.” She crushed the empty can in her hand. “Finish eating, let’s go.”

Natasha pushed her chair back an inch. “I’m ready now.”

Hill’s smile faltered. “You didn’t eat.”

“I ate enough.” She picked up her still-full tray, sliding the contents into the trash before Hill could continue her inspection. 

“You’ve barely eaten since that mission.” Her eyes swept over the redhead. “You’re getting thin.”

Natasha tugged her sweatshirt down and zipped it all the way up, covering her jutting collarbones and the ribs that visibly protruded above the low scooped neckline of her shirt. “I’m fine.”

The silence hung between them as they walked to the range. Each agent picked up ear and eye protection and they took two side-by-side lanes. 

“Four shots, judgement by accuracy?”

Hill nodded her assent. She took aim at the paper target, shutting out any distractions. Two into the center of the chest, two into the center of the head. She peered into Natasha’s lane as the targets came to the front for inspection. 

“Let’s see.”

Natasha frowned at her target. “I guess I’m a little out of practice.”

Hill took the paper from her. “That’s pretty impressive for ‘out of practice’.”

Natasha looked at Hill’s target and gave a low whistle. “Damn, girl, you could give Barton a run for his money.”

“I was top of the class for marksmanship.” She smiled proudly. 

“How are you at hand to hand?”

Hill’s smile faltered. They handed in the shooting gear and headed to the gym. 

“Are you sure you’re up to this?” Hill unbuckled her watch. “Medically, I mean.”

“Doctor didn’t say I couldn’t.” Natasha pulled her hand wraps and mouth guard out of the locker.

“I know you’re not cleared for field duty yet. I just didn’t know what kind of restrictions you have.” Maria waited patiently to catch Natasha’s eye.

“I’m up for this. I’m rusty; I need to get back up to par.” 

***

Maria laid on the mat on her back, struggling to breath around the mouthguard. She reached up and removed the offending rubber. “If this is rusty, shit, I’d hate to see you up to par.”

Natasha panted and offered Maria a hand. “Just because I’m better than you doesn’t mean I’m good enough.”

Hill shook her head. “Round two?” 

***

03.15.04; 13:26

He found her in the library, reading with a contemplative expression. 

“The heck is that?” Clint gestured to the book and sat next to her without invitation.

“De Finibus Bonorum et Malorum,” Natasha answered. 

Clint frowned.

“Cicero ‘On Moral Ends’.” She set the book aside. “How are you?”

“Fury told me what happened in Qatar.”

Natasha pulled her head back slightly, a frown creasing her brow. Fury had all but begged her not to tell Clint what had happened. “He did?”

“The Ten Rings capturing you, torturing you. Geez, Nat, why didn’t you say anything?”

They were alone in the library. “You’ve got enough on your plate with Laura and all that.”

“I have time for you.” He laid his hand palm up on the arm of her chair.

Natasha stared at the hand. 

“Nat?”

“I’m okay.” She leaned into the opposite side of the chair, her hands dropping into her lap.

Clint shook his head. “I know you’re not.”

“But you can’t exactly torture me until I admit that.”

He chuckled and nodded in agreement. “Okay. Maybe you’re more okay than I thought, because that sounds like you.”

Natasha forced a brittle smile until it began to feel normal.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha joins a "girl's night out"

Chapter 8

03.26.04; 15:38

Maria pressed her palm to the side of her thigh, her foot tingling. Natasha knelt next to her, batting her hand aside. She slapped the sore spot and began rubbing vigorously. 

“So, not that I mind losing every time we spar,” Maria began. “But how would you feel about helping me get better?”

Natasha smirked. “I am.”

“Your teaching methods suck.” She grabbed Natasha’s hand and pulled herself to her feet.

“I teach the way I was taught.” Natasha shrugged. “I can try a different way.”

“Please?” 

“For starters, your stance is too heavy. You have to be light on your feet to move quickly. Light but grounded.”

Hill shifted her weight. “Light but grounded?”

“Bend your knees more. More.” Natasha lightly tapped the side of Maria’s knee.

“I know it’s short notice, but a few of us are getting together for a girl’s night out tonight. You wanna come? Drinks, cards, maybe pool or darts or something.”

“You’re trying to distract me from how awful your stance is.” Natasha eyed her.

“Yeah, but you’re welcome to join us.”

Natasha frowned. “I’ll think about it.”

***

03.26.04; 22:35

The clatter of the balls scattering was barely audible beneath the thumping music and the clamor of the crowd. “Nice break,” Maria observed. 

Sharon growled at the pool table as Natasha circled to line up her shot. Lucy shook her head, taking a swig of Corona from a bottle. 

“How can you drink that shit?” Kara asked. 

“Better than your frou-frou drink. Did that come with an umbrella?” She gestured to Kara’s shapely glass.

“And a slice of pineapple.” She sucked on the straw, batting her eyes at Lucy. 

“Shit. Nice shot, Romanoff.” Sharon cocked her head to the side, watching the Russian line up her next move. “Am I going to get to play?”

Natasha smirked. “You can break next.”

“Fuck my life.” Sharon finished her drink. “At least we aren’t playing for money.”

“If we were playing for money--” The cue shot forward between Natasha’s fingers. “I’d pretend to be worse. It’s called a hustle.”

“Yeah, we have that in America.”

Natasha circled the table and frowned. “Where’s Roxanne?”

“At the bar.” Sharon put her hands on the table and leaned forward. “You want a drink?”

“Maybe after this game.” Natasha scanned the bar for their other compatriot.

“Are you going to take your shot or what?” Sharon asked, drumming her fingers on the edge of the table. 

“Keep your eyes on the guy on Roxanne’s left.”

“So you can cheat at pool?” Sharon countered. 

Maria stepped in next to Natasha, following her line of sight to the bar. “I see him.”

Natasha gave her a nod as she sank two more balls. She shifted position to take aim again. 

Maria strode into the crowd at a quick clip. “Hey!” Her voice couldn’t cut through the din. “Roxie!” She pushed past a group of dancers. “Roxie!” She put her hand on the other agent’s arm. “Hey. We’re all over there.” Maria jerked her head toward the pool table. 

“Yeah, and I'm here, talking to David.” Roxanne gestured to the man on her right.

“Hi.” He smiled warmly. “I'm David.”

“Fine, he can come. Come on.”

Roxanne frowned and shimmied off the bar stool. “What's your deal, Hill?” She reached for her glass.

“Leave it,” Maria said sharply. “I'll buy you a fresh one.”

The other women had stopped all conversation, all four of them watched as Maria retrieved Roxanne from the bar. 

“The hell, Hill?” Roxanne stomped over to the group. “The hell, all of you?”

Natasha raked her eyes over David. “Did you know the man sitting next to her on the other side?”

“What?” He looked at each of them, a confused frown forming on his face. 

“The guy sitting on the other side of Roxanne, do you know him?” Maria flanked him. 

He looked from Maria to Natasha and back. “No. Why?”

Maria looked at Roxanne. “He put something in your drink.”

“It was in my hand!” Roxanne objected.

“But your hand wasn’t in your line of sight. Romanoff told me to watch the guy so I did. He tried to drug you.”

Fear lit across Roxanne’s face, her features falling. She glanced toward the bar. The seats she and David had vacated were already filled. The one that had been on her left was empty. She began scanning the crowd at the bar. “I didn’t even really look at him. I don’t--”

“Maybe we should go somewhere else,” Lucy suggested. “We can get drunk at my apartment for way cheaper.”

Kara nodded agreeably. “We can hit Blockbuster and a liquor store on the way.”

“We could rent a horror movie.” Sharon grinned.

“This is a horror movie,” Roxanne whispered. Her lower lip trembled. “It was nice meeting you, David, but I’m going to go with my friends.”

“Yeah, yeah, cool. Um, can I give you my number?” He smiled. “Maybe call me tomorrow and let me know you’re okay?”

Roxanne nodded shakily.

“Cool. Um, do you have something I can write on?”

“Here.” Natasha held out her palm. “Just write it on my hand.”

David looked to Roxanne for confirmation. She shrugged. His brow furrowed, but he scrawled the digits onto Natasha’s skin. 

“I’ll copy them down somewhere safe for her.” 

Only Natasha and Maria had gotten a good look at the man who’d tried to drug their friend, and they kept searching the crowd for his face as the group made its way out. 

***

03.27.04; 12:09

“Truth or dare?”

Lucy ran her finger around the top of her beer bottle and bit her lower lip. “Um, dare?”

Kara grinned. “Take of your shirt.”

Lucy rolled her eyes and set the bottle down. “You just want to see my tits.”

“They’re glorious,” Kara replied. “Are they real? Can I touch?”

“You have your own.” Lucy pulled her shirt off over her head. 

“Not the same.” Kara ogled her shamelessly. 

Lucy crossed her arms over her chest. She rolled the six-sided die on the table. “Natasha, truth or dare?”

Natasha poured a little more vodka into her glass. “Truth.” She could always lie.

“How many lovers have you had?” Lucy leaned forward as she asked the question. 

Kara craned her neck, peering into Lucy’s cleavage. 

“Lovers?” Natasha raised her brows at the term.

“Men that you’ve slept with,” Lucy clarified.

“And women,” Kara added.

“Not everyone is like you.” Lucy shifted away from Kara, clutching her shirt in her lap.

“But only the people you wanted to sleep with,” Maria said. “Not, you know, if it was for work or they forced you.”

Natasha took a slow sip of her drink. “Um, four.”

 

“Oooh.” Sharon threw back the rest of her drink. “Can we get names? Just first names?”

“I haven’t even kissed four people,” Maria muttered into her glass. 

“James. Nadia. Charles. And Phillip.” Natasha counted on her fingers as she named them. Barney was a nickname derived from his middle name. She suddenly wished that Phil had a name that the others wouldn’t associate with him. 

“Ooh, tell me about Nadia,” Kara cooed, reaching over Lucy to touch Natasha’s arm. 

Natasha moved just out of reach. “There are no follow-up questions in Truth or Dare.”

“Maybe not in Russia.”

“Kara, stop.” Sharon glared at her. “You’re really drunk and you’re not half as charming as you think you are.”

Natasha seized the opportunity to shift the focus of herself. She rolled the die. “Maria, truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

Natasha slid her glass over. “Finish my drink.”

Maria’s eyes widened. “That’s a lot of very strong liquor.”

Natasha pushed it an inch closer with just one finger. “What are the consequences for refusing to complete a dare?”

“I have to do a truth.” Maria pushed the glass back. “Truth. Please, truth. I have a low tolerance.”

“You should work on that.” Natasha picked up her drink. “Fine. How many lovers have you had?”

Maria winced. “None.”

“You’re a virgin?” Kara’s jaw dropped. “Oh my god! Hill’s a virgin!” 

Lucy elbowed her hard in the ribs. “Christ, Kara, you’re gonna wake up Roxanne.”

Maria’s face reddened. She rolled the die. “Sharon, truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“Finish Natasha’s drink.”

The girls laughed. Sharon reached across the table and picked up Natasha’s glass. “I’ll pour you another.” She threw back the vodka and coughed. “Jesus, how do you drink that?”

“Straight,” Natasha replied. 

“Oh, I like her.” Kara reached over Lucy again to slap Natasha on the leg. “Straight. You’re fun.”

Sharon shook the die in her hand and sent it tumbling. “Maria, truth or dare?”

“Why do I have to go twice in a row?” Hill complained. 

“Because you’re the most uptight,” Kara answered.

“Lucky dice.” Sharon shrugged. “Sorry.”

“Truth, I guess.” She stood and stretched her back. “Gimme Romanoff’s glass, I’ll refill her.”

“What’s the furthest you’ve ever gone with a guy?” Sharon asked as she handed over the empty vessel. 

“Montana,” Maria shouted from the kitchen. She returned with a fresh beer for herself and Natasha’s vodka. “Blowjob. In Montana. Roll for me, would you?”

Sharon obliged by rolling the die again. Maria glanced at the number as she sat down.

“Romanoff, truth or dare?”

“Dare.” Natasha accepted her drink back. 

“Ooh, me, pick me.” Kara bounced on the couch. “I’ve got a dare for her.”

Maria fixed her with an unimpressed glare. 

“Dare her to kiss me!” Kara grinned manically. 

“You have a girlfriend,” Maria replied. 

“I have an open relationship. Go ahead and tell her. Fuck, call her right now. She won’t care.”

Natasha looked at Maria. “What’s my dare?”

“Fine, kiss Kara.” She gestured towards the other agent with a loose wave that turned into her flipping Kara the bird. 

Lucy scooted back into the couch, the other two women leaning over her lap. Natasha pressed her closed lips to Kara’s mouth, then pulled back.

“That was barely a kiss,” Kara complained. 

“Lucy, truth or dare?” Natasha asked. 

“Um, dare?” Lucy looked at Natasha with big, hazel eyes. 

“Put your shirt back on.”

Lucy sagged gratefully.

“Boo! That’s not a dare.” Kara slammed her glass onto the table. “That’s cheap. Wait a sec, you didn’t even roll.”

Lucy set the die on the table with the four showing. “Shut up, Kara. Truth or dare?” 

“That’s--” Kara stared at Lucy. “Dare.”  

“Fine. I dare you to stop fucking hitting on me.”

Kara frowned. “I didn’t realize it bothered you that much. I just think you’re really hot. I meant it as a compliment. I’ll stop. And I’m sorry.”

Lucy let out a little huff. “Thank you.”

Kara rolled the die with a little snap of her fingers. “Natasha, truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“Hey,” Maria flicked a droplet of beer at Kara. “You took my dare for her. I want her truth.”

“You guys are playing this game all wrong,” Lucy muttered. 

“Go for it.” Kara nodded to Maria.

“What’s Phillip’s last name?” 

Natasha’s smile vanished. “You bitch.”

“It’s Coulson, isn’t it?”

Natasha slowly drained her glass. “Yes.”

“Really?” Lucy straightened up in her seat. “How is that? Cause he seems super vanilla.”

Natasha picked up the die. “No follow up questions.” She rolled. “Martinelli, truth or dare?”

Sharon licked her lips. “Truth.”

“What have you lied about?”

“Shit, Romanoff’s playing for keeps now.” Kara stood. “Lu, you want another beer?”

“When I was six, I licked all the frosting off the cupcakes at a birthday party. I blamed the dog.” Sharon took a drink. “They threw out the cupcakes and cancelled the party to take the dog to the vet.” She rolled. “Kara, truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“How many lovers have you had?”

“Twelve. Only one man. Eleven women.” She set a bottle in front of Lucy. 

Lucy shook her head. “I’m still working on this one.”

“Drink faster.” Kara rolled the die. “Natasha?”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Dare.”

“Take off your shirt.”

Natasha peeled it off without pretense. “Ta-da.”

“Almost as nice as Lucy’s.” She handed Natasha the die.

***

03.27.04; 03:48

Phil pulled on his robe and checked the magazine of his glock. He chambered a round as he silently crossed the room to the door. He peered through the peephole.

Natasha swayed in the hall.

Phil set the gun down and opened the door. “What-”

She seized his face with both hands, pulling him into a kiss that burned with the vestiges of vodka. He stumbled back into his quarters, and she followed. Natasha closed the door and reached for him again. 

“What are you doing here?” He put a gentle hand on her shoulder to stop her.

“This is where I want to be.” She pushed his hand aside and kissed him again. She clutched the front of his robe, slipping it off his shoulders. 

Phil retreated, trying to extricate himself from her grasp. “You’ve been drinking.”

Natasha let the robe slip out of her hands, but for each tentative step he took, she took a matching one, staying right on top of him. “I want to be with you.”

He shook his head. “This isn’t a good idea.”

“It never was.” Natasha stripped off her shirt. “I want you.” She kicked her shoes toward the door. 

“This -- you aren’t thinking clearly.” The backs of his legs collided with his bed. He was out of room. “Natasha.”

“Please.”

The shape of her mouth as she formed the word was hypnotic. Phil’s breath caught in his throat. 

“Stand down.”

Natasha’s lips curled into a smirk. “Are you giving me orders?” She shimmied out of her tight jeans. “Give me another.”

“Natasha, please. I don’t want to embarrass you, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but I will not take advantage of you when you’re drunk.”

She unhooked her bra, sliding it down her arms slowly.

Phil averted his gaze. “Get dressed.”

“Mm. And are you going to punish me if I don’t?”

“For fuck’s sake!”  He tried to find something to look at other than her increasingly exposed body.

“That’s why I’m here.” Natasha ran her hand from the side of her neck down over her breast, fingers splaying over her ribs and the taut muscles of her abdomen before linger to play with the waistband of her underwear. “For the sake of a fuck.”

“Lay down.” His voice shook. 

She prowled over to him, setting her knee on the mattress; the inside of her thigh pressed against the outside of his. “Touch me.” Her fingers ghosted over his chest, raising goosebumps. 

He swallowed, licking his parched lips. “Lay down.” Phil nodded toward the bed. 

She pressed into him, turning him to face her as she fell onto the mattress. She lifted her hips and began pulling her underwear down, gazing up at him.

“Slow down. Recite the alphabet backwards.” He took a small step back from the bed.

“You’ve got some weird kinks, Coulson.” She rolled onto her side. “Which language?”

“English.” 

Natasha sighed. “ Z, Y, X, W, V, U, T, S, R, Q, P, O, N, M, L, K, J, I, H, G, F, E, D, C, B, A.”

She didn’t rush it, or sing it, or stumble over any of the letters. There was very little slur to her voice. She glanced at the front of his boxers and licked her lips. “Want me to do a breathalyzer?” 

Phil leaned over the bed and kissed her. She tipped over onto her back, pulling him along. He knelt on the bed to catch himself. He slipped one hand between her legs and broke from the kiss as he pressed the side of his fingers against the outside of her underwear. 

Natasha tensed; her sultry bedroom-eyes flashed wide open. She undulated her hips, grinding into his touch.

He pulled his hand away slowly. “Sleep it off.”

“I swear I’m not that drunk.” She grabbed his wrist. “Phil?”

He shook his head. “I just don’t know.”

Natasha let go of him. “Well, I’m not going to beg.” She pulled his blanket over her. 

“I could lay down with you,” he offered. “If you just want to lay together.”

“You’re lucky to be alive.”

“I’m guessing you don’t get a lot of guys turning you down.” He tucked himself into the bed next to her.

Natasha’s smile didn’t touch her eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”  She touched his chest, her hand sliding down his shirt to rest over the round scar on his ribs. 

“You came as close to dying in Qatar as I did.”

She wriggled closer to him. “I did.”

He put his arms around her, both of them adjusting to find a comfortable position. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha keeps moving forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took a bit longer than anticipated, I hadn't planned for things to get quite so explicit, but all's well that ends well.

03.27.04; 06:52

Phil slowly eased his arm out from beneath Natasha’s neck.

“I’m awake,” she mumbled into the pillow.

“Shhh, sleep.” He patted her shoulder.

“It’s morning.” She stretched and rolled over to face him.

He took in her slowly blinking eyes and the yawn she half-stifled as she gazed at him.

“You look like you could fall back to sleep.”

Natasha ran her fingers through her hair. “But I probably shouldn’t.” She sat up and kissed him impulsively. “Do you have to go?”

“I don’t have anything pressing, just-” He looked her over and stroked her arm. “My routine.”

A little smile, soft and coquettish, spread across her full lips. She reached out; her fingers played with the hem of his shirt.

Phil looked down at her hand and looked up just time to see her lean in to steal another kiss. He pulled back in shock, but quickly recovered, pressing into the kiss. He chased her as she lowered herself back onto the bed, cradling her waist in one hand.

Natasha wrapped her arms around him, pulling his shirt up his back. Phil broke from kissing her just long enough to duck and wiggle out of it before diving back to her lips. She tugged at his boxers, but the waistband caught on his erection. Phil’s half-growl half-whimper made her giggle as her fingers traced the elastic around to the front, easing it over his member.

“Typically giggling is not what I want to hear when a woman is undressing me.” He gave her a teasing glare.

Natasha bit her lower lip in a way that made his stomach flip, half smiling. “You make cute noises.”

“Cute is also not really what I want to hear.”

“I like cute.” She lifted her hips to slide her underwear down and Phil’s throat went dry; he forgot any clever response his brain might have been working on.

His hands followed hers down the outside of her legs, the backs of his fingers brushing against her wrist. She let go, letting him chase the fabric over her ankles and helping him untangle her feet from the underwear. His hands came back up on the inside of her legs. Her thighs parted slowly as he moved higher and higher, until his fingers brushed against the soft cleft between her legs. She angled her face for another kiss; Phil’s body followed his hands, easing between her thighs as he kissed her.

He pulled away from her mouth and kissed the soft hollow beneath her jaw. Her back arched, thrusting her breasts upward for his attention. He slipped lower, breath hot against her collarbone, lips soft. He trailed over the curve of one breast. Natasha hooked her hand at the base of his skull, pulling his mouth down over her nipple. She sighed as he sucked the flesh, brushing the tip of his tongue against the firm peak. He shook off her hand and shifted his weight to give the other breast the same treatment.

Natasha wiggled against the sheets as he kissed between her breasts, her stomach, then just below her navel, descending down the bed. She reached down, her fingers tracing over the stubble on his cheek, catching him under the jaw and turning his chin up to look into his face.

Phil gazed up from between her legs, so close he could smell the faint musk of her arousal. Natasha shook her head in a tiny movement. He pursed his lips and nodded, letting her guide him back up.

“What do you want?” he asked, nuzzling her ear.

“I want you to fuck me.” She splayed her fingers over his back, pushing his body into position.

Phil twisted out of her grasp, leaning out to scrounge a condom from his nightstand.

“Want me to help with that?” Natasha offered, reaching for the prophylactic.

He handed it over with a smirk, watching Natasha tear open the foil. “Here.”

Phil dropped the empty wrapper back into the drawer.

“Sit on the edge of the bed.” Natasha didn’t look at him, busily positioning the condom in her hands. She propped it in her mouth.

“I’m about to be impressed, aren’t I?” He sat at the very edge of the mattress with his knees spread so she could get between them. Natasha nodded and knelt, pressing his legs even further out; she pulled her hair out of her face with one hand and used the other to support the base of his dick.

Phil tried not to squirm as she used her lips and tongue to roll the condom onto him. “I’m impressed,” he managed to gasp.

Natasha slid back and licked her lips. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.” Her palms on his chest gently pushed him to lie back.

He quickly maneuvered into position, lying on the bed on his back. Natasha straddled him, running her nails over his ribs before guiding him to the warm entrance of her sex. Phil whined; his hips bucked slightly as she slid down onto him. He lifted his shoulders off the mattress, reaching for her and pulling her into another kiss. He sat up slowly, letting her rearrange her legs on either side of him.

Natasha found herself breathless with the fullness of having him buried deep inside her, the heat spiraling out from the point where the base of his cock ground against her clit. She shuddered, rocking her hips. She caught sight of his expression: eyes warm but focused, pupils dilated, lips parted. She leaned in, tucking her head into the side of his neck.

It was all too much: the softness of pleasure, the sharpness of pain. His warm hands spread across her back, holding her tenderly. She continued to move with him, mechanically, her mind drifting.

Phil stilled; his hands slid to her hips. “Natasha?”

She pressed down, wrapping her legs around him. She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. “Don’t stop.” She buried her head in the side of his neck, arms tight around his shoulders.

“Natasha,” he repeated. He tried to lift her away.

“Please don’t stop.” She clung to him, her nails digging into the tops of his shoulders.

“What’s wrong? Does it hurt?” He touched her hair, craning his neck for a glimpse of her face.

She loosened her grip and shook her head, pulling back slightly. She studied his face, recognition slowly coming into her eyes. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Phil made a conscious effort to relax his furrowed brow and force his eyes - wide with concern - back to a neutral expression. He closed his mouth and lowered his shoulders.

Natasha lifted herself off him. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I can do this right now.”

“Can you tell me what happened?” He offered her hand as she clumsily extracted herself from the bed.

Natasha looked at her hand, resting on his, palm to palm. “I can’t.” She withdrew, dressing quickly, ignoring his stunned and wounded expression.

Phil watched mutely as she left. He pulled the condom off his quickly softening prick and sat on the bed. He was dimly aware of the ticking of his clock, the hum of the HVAC. He trudged to the door, dropping the condom into the trash on the way, and locked the door. He leaned his back against the door, his heart pounding, his stomach knotted with guilt. He pulled in a slow breath through his nose. Double checking the door to make sure it was latched, he dragged himself into the bathroom. He locked the bathroom door as well. Phil turned the shower on hot and stood beneath the spray.

Steam filled the small bathroom. The world went soft-focused and white. His skin turned pink under the heat. Hot tears squeezed from the corners of his tightly shut eyes trickled down his cheeks, washing away with the water. He braced his hands against the wall of the shower, bowing his head under the stream.

The tightness in his chest slowly released. He reached out and turned the water off. Phil let out a heavy sigh, wrapping himself in a towel. Phil wiped the steam off the mirror and stared into the eyes of his reflection. He slitted his gaze. “What did you do to her?” he whispered accusingly.

Fog encroached on the silver swath he’d created, and he wiped it away again. “I love her.”

***

03.27.04; 10:58

“Have a seat.” If Fury’s gentle tone and subdued gestures were meant to set her at ease, they had just the opposite effect. Natasha bristled.

“I’m fine standing.”

The director settled back into his chair, frowning at her. “What’s wrong?”

“You asked to see me.” Natasha squared off her posture, feet shoulder width apart, hands loosely clasped behind her back.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk. “I have something to discuss with you, but something is bothering you and I want to know what it is.”

Natasha’s brows trembled into a hesitant frown. She swallowed hard and schooled her features back to neutrality. “I can’t tell you.”

Fury held his analytical glare a moment longer before he let it lapse. “Fine. You’re being reassigned. You’ll report to Agent Dunn, effective immediately. Dismissed.”

Her face went slack and pale. Natasha blinked rapidly; her gaze fluttered around the office. “Wh-why?”

Fury pursed his lips before answering. “I can’t tell you,” he countered.

Natasha’s brow curled into a frown even as her eyes took on a bright sheen; she rocked back, her hand swinging forward. “Why?” Her voice cracked.

“What’s going on with you and Coulson?”  He stood slowly.

“Is that what this is about?” Natasha stumbled a few steps to the side and sank into the chair. “I--” She closed her eyes briefly, her face scrunching into a wince. “We slept together.”

Fury walked over to a counter that ran along the west wall of his office and poured two cups of coffee. He offered one to Natasha.

“It was a few months ago. New Year’s actually.” Natasha accepted the cup but stared at it rather than drinking, warming her hands on the styrofoam sides. “And it was good. Really good. Probably the most fun I’ve ever had without actually getting off. A little taboo but not actually dangerous. And he’s patient and considerate. And I felt safe.”

Fury sat next to her, in the other chair that stood across from his desk. He sipped his coffee.

“And it didn’t happen again until -- well, I tried to seduce him last night but he thought I was too drunk. So this morning, when we were both sober, we started, um, but I couldn’t finish. I could have, actually, but once he noticed something was off, he stopped and I ran out.”

“You didn’t feel safe anymore.”

Natasha looked up from the surface of her coffee and nodded. “Don’t tell him that. I believe him when he said he wasn’t involved in the whole fake Ten Rings mission.”

“But you don’t trust him.”

Natasha took a drink. “This is better than what they serve in the cafeteria.”

A weak smile flickered across Fury’s face. “You can live, you can survive, you can get by without trusting anyone. It’s possible. But it’s lonely.”

“I don’t get lonely.” She pulled her shoulders back and lifted her head.

“If that were true, you’d’ve never slept with Phil in the first place.” He nodded to her and swirled the coffee around in his cup. “He’s not the man women flock to for casual sex.”

Natasha sipped hers. “Out of curiosity, who would that be?”

Fury nearly choked on the drink he’d taken. “That’s, uh, not-” he sputtered. “Rumlow, maybe. Or Maysonet. I hear … things. That’s not really my area of expertise.” He cleared his throat and lifted the cup to his lips again.

Natasha tilted her head with a slight nod and shifted her weight, signaling a shift in the conversation. “How do I trust him? Coulson, I mean. How do I get back to where we were before?”

Fury shook his head. “You don’t. You don’t go back. You go forward.”

She nodded again.

“Agent Romanoff, there are rules. There are regulations. But frankly--” Fury shrugged. “I don't much care what consenting adults do behind closed doors. Even if I had known, I wouldn’t have reassigned you unless….”

She frowned at him.

“Coulson asked. He didn’t say why.”

Natasha’s cup hit the floor, coffee splashing over the short-pile carpet. She jerked her legs out of range of the splatter, staring at the mess. She slowly reached down with a trembling hand.

“I’ll take care of it,” Fury said quietly. “Maybe you should talk to him.”

She looked up at the director. “He didn’t say why?”

Fury shook his head.

Natasha stood and hesitated over the spill, looking back and forth between Fury and the rapidly spreading puddle on the floor. “Sorry.” She hurried out of the office.

***

03.27.04; 13:01

Natasha had long perfected the art of waiting without looking like she was waiting for someone. When Coulson approached the cafeteria, she strolled toward him, shoulder checking him roughly. She continued on, away from the cafeteria, without a backward glance.

She’d collided with him with enough force that Phil had to turn. As she cleared the crowd near the lunchroom, Natasha picked up her pace. Soon they were in a deserted corridor, she could hear his footsteps behind her as she led him to an empty conference room. She slung open the door and stopped inside.

As Coulson stepped into the room, Natasha’s palm struck him across the cheek. The blow coincided with the sound of the door slamming shut behind them.

“What?” He stammered, his hand going to his cheek.

“You transferred me to Dunn.”

Phil shifted back a step, bringing up his hands. “Will you let me explain?”

“Nothing you could say would be good enough.” Her nostrils flared, her eyes were wide and dark. “I just want you to know that I know what you did. And I’m pissed. I thought you were better than this.”

“Being reassigned isn’t a punishment!”

She recoiled at his gesture, a swinging hand.

“I don’t know Dunn. I don’t trust him. It sure as hell feels like a punishment.” Natasha leaned back in, chest heaving.

“What -- I don’t even know what I would be punishing you for, Natasha. I’m not --”

“For sleeping with you once, but not twice.”

All the tension went out of Phil’s posture, his chest and shoulders fell. He shook his head. “No. That’s not right. If you don’t trust Dunn, I’ll find someone else. I just can’t do it anymore.”

“Why not?” Natasha pressed. “If it’s not about us sleeping together or not sleeping together, then why?”

Coulson pressed his palm to the door. “I have feelings for you. It’s compromising my professional judgement. Because even if you’re the best agent for the job, I don’t want to send you if there’s the slightest possibility that you’d get hurt.” His gaze dropped to the floor. He squeezed his face up and took a deep breath before looking back into her eyes. “Even if you’re the best agent for the job, I can’t give you the order to seduce a stranger. And I can’t sit on a comm and listen to you do it.” His fingers curled against the wood. “Please. I trust Dunn. We’ve worked together for years. And Clint thinks he’s a good fit with you, he’ll be patient but firm. He won’t put you in unnecessary danger, but he won’t hold you back the way I would. He’ll let you grow as an agent. Take the chances that you need to take. Just -” he pursed his lips. “Just take this one. Please.”

“Okay.” Natasha’s whisper was barely audible. She took a hesitant step in and wrapped her arms around him.

He relaxed, encircling her in an embrace, and dropped his head toward her shoulder. “Thank you,” he whispered into her ear.

***

04.03.04 13:15

“How’s Dunn?” Phil sat across from Natasha without asking permission.

“He’s alright.” She shrugged. “It’s only been a couple days. He doesn’t share his lunch with me or loan me books, but he also doesn’t hit me and he hasn’t sent me to isolation yet.”

Coulson looked up from his lunch with a deadly serious expression. “That’s not really how we do things at SHIELD. No one here should ever-”

Natasha cut him off with a wave of her hand. “I know. I’m still getting used to that. Maybe one of these days I’ll stop being insubordinate just because I can.”

“And on that day, maybe you’ll make level two.” He shook his head.

Natasha rolled her eyes and threw a grape at him. 

Phil dodged. “Hey.” He looked over his shoulder. “You better go pick up your mess, young lady.” 

Natasha leaned back in her seat. “And if I don’t.”

Coulson glowered at her and slowly stood. “Then I … am going to have to do it myself.” He turned away, and Natasha watched with a faint smile as he crawled halfway under the adjacent table to retrieve the piece of fruit. He swung out of his way to drop it into a trash can before returning to his seat. 

“Sorry,” Natasha said, but her smirk and the twinkle in her eye said otherwise. 

“You know, part of the reason I had you reassigned was that, well, I wanted us to be together in a non-professional setting.”

“I want that too.” She reached across the table for his hand. 

“I’m going to be overseeing an op in Madripoor. For several months.” His hand retreated beyond her reach. “I don’t want to turn it down. It’s important for SHIELD and for the other agents involved and probably for my own career.”

Natasha’s smile faded. “I’m going to throw another grape at you.”

“I’m going to catch it in my mouth,” Phil countered.

“Oh really?” She deliberately arched her toss, making it easier for Phil to get under the projectile. 

He still nearly fell of his chair in the effort, but succeeded. 

“Good catch.” 

He chewed and swallowed before speaking. “I guess I don’t necessarily know what this means for us.”

“It means there is no us, Phil.” She picked at the crust of her sandwich. “It’s a long way away. A lot can happen in a few months. And you might not even come back, since I won’t be there to rescue your ass at every turn.”

He snorted softly and smiled. “Right. What if I didn’t go?”

“Then you’ll spend the rest of your life wondering what might have happened if you had, and regretting it. And resenting me.”

Phil tilted his head from side to side. “That sounds marginally worse than spending the rest of my life wondering what would have happened if I’d stayed here, and regretting it, and resenting myself.”

She turned the sandwich over. “This was a bad idea, you said it from the start.”

“But I love you.” It was his turn to reach for her.

She looked down at their hands, his fingers lapped over hers. “I love you too. But that’s not enough.”

Phil gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “I will always be your friend.”

She looked into his eyes. “I’ll always be yours.”

***


End file.
